Fore and Hindsight
by Princess Alyra
Summary: When Merlin becomes the unwitting hostage of a man with dark intentions, it's going to take more than Arthur alone to save him. His very life depends on a choice that has yet to be made.
1. The Nightmare

**Summary: **When Merlin becomes the unwitting hostage of a man with dark intentions, it's going to take more than Arthur alone to save him. His very life depends on a choice that has yet to be made.

This is my first chaptered Merlin fanfic (ever!). Reviews are always appreciated! I'd love to know how you feel about it so far, whether you think anything could be improved, what you like/don't like, etc. I hope you enjoy the story!

6/12/10 - fixed a couple of minor errors.

* * *

Chapter One : The Nightmare

_Merlin twisting in pain, a burst of light obscuring most of his body. The flash of a blade, followed by a stream of scarlet._

_Trees, bunched close together, dark and towering._

"_He treats his servants like dirt…"_

Morgana gasped and her whole body jerked as her eyes flew open and she awakened suddenly. Her fingers grasped subconsciously for the bracelet on her wrist; it was still there.

She shakily pushed herself into a sitting position, staring straight ahead through the darkness, trying to steady her heavy breathing. Her chest rose and fell with her hammering heartbeat, so loud it almost had its own echo.

It had been so long since her last nightmare that she had begun to think they were truly a thing of the past. She had not been prepared, therefore, for this one.

_Then maybe that's all it is, _she thought. _A nightmare. _But the rational part of her knew that didn't make sense, either. She'd never experienced the kind of dreams that normal girls did, not before she'd gotten the bracelet, and certainly not after.

The door swung open, and Morgana's eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see the outline of a familiar woman striding towards her. It didn't take much to imagine the look of concern on her face. Morgana realized she must have screamed while she was still enveloped in the nightmare.

"I'm all right," Morgana assured quickly, before Morgause could pose the question. "Really, it was nothing."

Morgause moved swiftly to cover Morgana's trembling hand with her own cool one. "Morgana," she said in a hushed whisper, "I'm no fool. I know you better than that. It was more than nothing. Please, weren't you wearing the bracelet I gave you?"

Morgana lifted her hand from beneath Morgause's; the bulk on her wrist was visible as a faint, shadowy outline. Morgause traced the pattern on it reverently with a long, pale finger. She no longer needed it for the nightmares she had once suffered, but it still held value for her. It was the one thing from her childhood she had kept, the one relic that held ties between her past and her future.

"It's never let a dream through before," Morgana whispered back, hearing the fear in her own voice. "My sleep has been completely peaceful since you gave it to me… until tonight."

"What did you see?"

Though she had anticipated this question, she was still ill prepared to answer it. She was forced to speak around a growing lump in her throat. "Merlin… bleeding. Lost. Alone. Dying."

The words Morgause spoke next, coupled with the way she said it, voice low and dark mystery and intent, sent chills down Morgana's spine.

"Perhaps my bracelet did not work because you were _destined _to see this."

* * *

Hunting was Merlin's absolute least favorite thing to do. Whether it be bear, deer, or herbs for Gaius' brews, hunting was a miserable activity. But worst of all was hunting for the unknown. This God-forsaken trip, for instance.

"Look on the bright side, Merlin," Arthur said cheerfully, smug from Merlin's disgruntled behavior. "At least you're not doing chores."

"Right," muttered Merlin. "Until we get back, then you'll want your armor polished, sword sharpened, room cleaned, tunic washed, horses mucked out… have I forgotten anything?"

Arthur smacked his forehead comically. "And to think, I would have forgotten to mention my tunic. Good on you for remembering. Oh, and don't forget to mend my trousers, I caught the leg on a briar bush the other day, ripped a couple of the seams."

Merlin threw his pack at him.

The deeper they plunged into the forest, the quieter it became. This was worrisome, as usually the opposite was true. Life was meant to thrive at the heart of the forest, but the gleeful chattering of birds was becoming less; the scuttling in the undergrowth were absent.

It felt like a crime, somehow, to break the silence, but it had to be done. "Arthur," said Merlin, almost wincing at how loud he sounded. He lowered his voice. "Arthur, what do you think this is?"

"Whatever it is has half the forest spooked," Arthur observed. "I'm guessing it's more than just an oversized bear."

They fell back into silence.

Not that silence was ever permanent with Merlin.

"If this thing is so dangerous, why are we the only ones on this trip?" he wondered aloud. Arthur really did wince at the way Merlin's voice penetrated the quiet, not to mention the ungainly crunching of his boots. "Shouldn't, say, the trained knights who agreed to defend Camelot with their lives be involved in this… expedition?"

"Someday, I'm going to teach you the fundamentals of a _whisper,_" hissed Arthur. "And we don't have a knight escort because we're only here to find out more about this creature so that when _do _fight it, we have an advantage. After we report back, _then _we'll return with more men who know how to pick up the sword by the proper end."

Merlin ignored the jibe. "And if the beast finds us first and we don't have time to report back?"

"My father will send knights anyway if we're not back in a few days' time."

"Great," Merlin muttered.

He had never been in this part of the forest before. Close, yes; they had passed the now-deserted lair of the Questing Beast less than an hour ago. The atmosphere had changed greatly in that small amount of time. Little sun filtered through the thickly bunched treetops, and when it did it cast a mystical light that Merlin could compare only to magic.

They were dangerously close to Camelot's border. If they ventured much further, they would risk an attack of the human nature as well as the beastly kind.

Arthur stopped suddenly. Merlin came to a halt, too, looking at him curiously. "What?"

"Shh!" The prince wasn't moving a muscle except for his eyes, which carefully roamed from side to side, taking in everything his peripheral vision would allow without turning his head. "Do you hear that?"

Merlin listened attentively. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn all the noise in the world had been turned off, except for the barely perceptible crunch of footsteps in the undergrowth.

"Ye-"

Something streaked past and knocked Arthur to the ground with a mighty growl. Merlin crushed his first instinct and instead clumsily drew Arthur's spare sword and swiped at the beast. Arthur rolled to his feet and joined the assault, twigs and dirt clinging to the fabric of his clothes.

The creature roared and again and reared on its massive hind legs, crashing back to the forest floor and causing the ground to tremble.

Merlin struck out blindly, trying to shield his face and attack all at once. The monster's breath was foul, and saliva dripped from its teeth and tongue, spraying whenever it roared. The tip of Merlin's blade drove into its calf muscle, but although the blade was wet and bright red when he pulled it out again, it appeared to have no effect, and the wound had healed itself up again before Merlin had time to wonder how that was possible.

It seemed more intent on pursuing Merlin than Arthur, and chose to ignore the prince's brazen attempts to harm it. _Great, _Merlin thought sulkily. Even a beast he'd never seen before recognized him as the easier prey.

Finally, when Arthur ripped open a gash the entire length of its tail, it rounded on him instead and Merlin had a chance to look at it properly.

It stood almost twice his height when it balanced on its hind legs, and its flesh was thick and tough as leather. Its head was turned away, but Merlin had already caught sight of the two rows of teeth, although the ones in the back could hardly be seen past the enormous front ones. Its shape was much like a hunched-over, over-grown dog, though its features more closely resembled a lizard, if anything.

Arthur was able to defend himself well enough from the swipe of the thing's massive paws, but like Merlin, he could do lasting damage.

"This is definitely a magical beast!" he yelled to Merlin, who was trying to attack it from behind. "No flesh-and-blood creature could withstand so many blows with nothing to show for it!"

Merlin himself had already come to the conclusion that that was the case, which in the average situation would mean it was up to him to vanquish it and somehow make it look like he _hadn't _just cast powerful magic. In this case, though, it did not matter whatsoever that Arthur was standing mere feet away from him, because he had no idea what spell might bring this creature down. What could possibly penetrate such thick skin, and what would kill with enough speed that the healing powers would not come into effect?

Without warning the beast switched targets again, and Merlin found himself pinned to a tree, rough bark digging into his back through his thin tunic, and claw marks shredding the cloth and skin in front.

"No!"

With renewed energy, Arthur sprang again at the beast, wielding his sword with the combination of stealth and strength that could only be associated with a Knight of Camelot. But at the same time the creature hooked Merlin by the shirt with a single, deadly tooth, it snapped its tail to the side, clipping Arthur by the side of the head and knocking him to the ground, out cold on contact. His sword fell uselessly at his side.

Merlin hardly registered any of this, as the pain in his chest and the foul, hot breath enveloping reached an overwhelming point. He allowed himself to sink into black, dimly aware that with every jolting step, he was being carried farther and farther away from his only hope of survival.


	2. The Glade

Wow. I was so not expecting the response I got for the first chapter! Let's just say I've been grinning like an idiot all weekend. :) I keep catching typos I made during chapter one, so if you ever see anything you think looks weird, let me know and I'll fix it! Any and all feedback is appreciated. But without further ado, here is chapter two. [/rhyme]

* * *

Chapter Two: The Glade

Arthur blinked slowly awake, and at first his only concern was the fact that his bed was _far _less comfortable than normal. Then he became aware of several other things. One, his head was pounding, and he was certain he hadn't been drinking the previous night. Two, it wasn't light enough to be morning, surely? Three, there was no annoying manservant chattering in his ear about this morning's reason for being late.

Merlin.

Arthur sat up and gently touched the throbbing spot on his head. No blood, but the area was extremely tender. That was not the most pressing matter, though. He was far more concerned about his missing servant.

The last thing he could remember was seeing that - that - _thing _picking Merlin up in its mouth and whacking Arthur with its trunk-sized tail. There was no sign of either of them now, and though life had returned to the forest in the creature's absence, Arthur felt utterly alone.

Now more than ever, Arthur wished he had brought a horse. He and Merlin had been forced to leave their mounts at the forest's edge, for it would only have hindered them to try and navigate a clear enough path through the trees for the horses to travel, and besides, it would have eliminated all possibility of stealth. Not that it had done them a bit of good in the end.

The walk there had taken somewhere around two hours, and the ride back to Camelot would take some time, too. Arthur doubted Merlin had that kind of time, but the part of his mind that was beginning to grow more rational and mature _knew _that he would never be able to rescue Merlin from that beast alone.

While Arthur thought about this, he started the long journey to the edge of the forest. He would fetch his knights and return to fight the beast again, but he had hardly any hope that Merlin could be helped now. He was probably dead already, he realized, and his throat felt oddly tight at the thought.

But if the best he could achieve was vengeance, then by God, he would get it.

* * *

Two months. Two months since Morgause had rescued her, and Morgana could remember every day in that time with startling clarity.

Day one, Morgana had woken up with a familiar blonde-haired woman sitting in the chair beside her, leaning close to her face and pressing a damp cloth to her forehead.

Day four, Morgause explained that they were half-sisters, and that as long as she was around, Morgana would have nothing to fear from anyone. "It's what families do," she had said, and Morgana distinctly remembered a warm feeling she had never felt when Uther said the word "family."

Day five, Morgana asked what exactly had happened to her, for her memory was affected by the poison. Morgause told her that Merlin had been the one to poison her, that he had bartered with her life as though she were a garden tool.

Day seventeen, Morgana forgave Merlin. He had betrayed her, but deep down she had always known he would choose Camelot - and Arthur - over her, no matter what. It was difficult to stay angry with someone like him for too long.

Day thirty-nine, Morgause taught Morgana her first spell. It was simple, setting dry material on fire, but Morgana was proud all the same. It was the first controlled form of magic she had ever done.

Day forty-six, Morgause told her that her power would always be at its greatest when she was not controlling it. Her nightmares - or visions, as she had begun to accept them as - were her strength. "But I know they trouble you so," Morgause reassured her. "Your controlled power will grow, don't worry."

Through all fifty-eight days, Morgana's sleeping was entirely untroubled.

Day fifty-nine, she had a vision.

"It doesn't make any sense," she told Morgause over dinner, which due to sorceress talents was even more exquisite than Camelot royal standard. "Why now?"

"I've already told you what I think," said Morgause patiently. "If you were meant to see this, then no enchanted bracelet was ever going stop it from happening."

"But what am I meant to do about it?"

"You will learn in due course, I'm sure. Perhaps you will be the cause of his… misfortune. Perhaps you saw your revenge upon the man who tried to kill you."

Morgana said nothing to this. She wasn't sure why, but she felt hesitant to tell her sister that she had forgiven Merlin. For some reason, it seemed important to Morgause that she foster a hatred for her former friend. So in an effort to draw attention away from this, she said instead, "But I can't return to Camelot."

"Who said anything about Camelot? The way I hear it, the prince drags his servant boy with him everywhere. He could just find himself stumbling into our little hideaway."

Be that as it may, Morgana _knew _she would not be Merlin's tormenter. _"He treats his servants like dirt…" _Something about that statement bemused her. Unless things had changed since she was in Camelot, most of the lords didn't treat their servants unkindly. In fact, most masters didn't interact with their servants at all. She could only think that Merlin must have meant Arthur, which was another reason she was sure it could not be her he was addressing; why would he have cause to tell her that? And had things really gotten so bad between the two since she left?

The expectant gaze with which Morgause fixed Morgana worried her. Did her sister truly believe - maybe even hope - that she would try to kill Merlin?

A chill passed through the Seer's spine. What if this tragedy had already befallen him. What if he was enduring it right now, while she enjoyed a leisurely meal?

Morgana shifted under Morgause's gaze and smiled so as not to concern her sister. Merlin was fine for now; of course he was. She could worry about him later, if she found a bit of spare time when she wasn't under such intense scrutiny. Nevertheless, her appetite was mysteriously gone, and she pushed away her only half-empty plate, unable to take another bite.

* * *

Sunlight. That was Merlin's first impression, and he thought he must be in Avalon, because he could swear that the last time he was awake he had been bleeding and lodged in the jaws of a beast twice his height. In his experience, you didn't go from dire situations to relaxing under the sun without some kind of battle and outrageous amounts of effort in between. What were the chances that Arthur had found him, rescued him, and brought him back to Camelot, all while he was unconscious? And why was he lying outside?

Merlin felt his torso and bit back a moan; surely his wounds would be gone if he were in Avalon. So he wasn't dead, and that meant he was still unsure of his bearings.

He sat up carefully and opened his eyes.

He was in a glade, surrounded on all sides by the shadows of the enclosing forest. It was small and really kind of pretty. There was a distinct lack of wildlife, except for the insects weaving about in the grass, but for once Merlin found himself appreciating the beauty of the plants themselves. God only knew he'd never enjoyed fetching herbs for Gaius, nor would he enjoy it in future, but this felt different. Almost… magical.

Merlin climbed to his feet to take a better look around - or tried to. He was caught around the wrists and pulled roughly back down on his bottom. He was chained to the tree behind him.

The magical feel to the place lessened.

_Okay, _Merlin thought. He could deal with this. Whoever had bound him would get a nice surprise when they returned to find their captive missing. "_Untíegan_," he commanded confidently.

Nothing.

"_Undón wideband_," he tried instead, but the manacles securing his wrists didn't so much as jangle. Three variations later and Merlin was sure he'd dreamed he was a sorcerer. He felt more like he was talking to himself than like he was attempting a spell.

Sighing resignedly, Merlin closed his eyes and sat back against his tree. Maybe if he went to sleep, he would wake up and find that he could do magic again.

"Not so fast, little sorcerer."

More annoyed than frightened, Merlin pried his eyes open again. A tall man loomed over him, head directly blotting out the sun, which gave him a darkly angelic glow. He was tall, Merlin could see that much even from his sitting position, but more conspicuous were the scars that crisscrossed his arms, starting from the back of his hands and disappearing into the sleeves of his robes.

That was when the fear set in.

"Hello," Merlin greeted conversationally.

The man's face remained peacefully impassive. "Hello," he acknowledged, "little sorcerer." Merlin wished he would stop saying that. It was degrading, and besides, after all his hard work, Merlin wasn't sure he appreciated some stranger announcing his biggest secret as casually and obviously as if he were commenting on how blue the sky was. "I am Arawn."

"I'm Merlin, what's your point?" He tried to keep a waver out of his voice and act like he would around Arthur.

All he received for his efforts was a continuous blank stare. "You will soon learn not to be so _flippant, _lest I dispose of you with greater haste than I currently have in mind. I'm quite certain that you can prove useful in some way, but if not… it hardly benefits me to keep you alive."

"Not sure how you think I'm going to be useful to you," retorted Merlin, who wasn't sure, either, why he was pointing out something that might quicken his death, "seeing as you've tied me to a tree and done something with my magic."

"I have confidence that I will find something for you," Arawn said, and then added mysteriously, "and you needn't be so quick to blame me for your loss of ability."

* * *

"So what's your game, anyway?"

After hours that felt like days spent sitting against a tree, Merlin was beginning to grow increasingly restless. Arawn had made no remark so far, not even to clue Merlin in on why he was here or how he got here in the first place.

The wound on his chest had not yet been treated (oh, how he missed Gaius already), and besides not being able to go anywhere because of the manacles, he also had to be careful not to open the slashes again. He slipped in and out of a half-sleeping mode; the blood loss left him feeling tired and weak.

"My game?" Arawn repeated. He looked up from the spear he had spent the last five minutes sharpening, dividing his attention between the task and his captive. "Whatever do you mean, little sorcerer?"

Merlin clenched his fist in irritation. "You know what I mean. Why am I here? What are you trying to do that you plan on using me for? You said I could 'prove useful,' but there's no way you dragged me out here just to get me to, to wash your socks or some other meaningless servants' work like that. There must be a real reason."

Arawn abandoned the spear and crouched down at Merlin's side. "And why do you think you, of all people, are worth my time trying to capture?" he asked simply, enunciating every syllable clearly. "You speak of servants' work; is that what you are? A servant boy? Do not think that I waste my days away striving to capture the likes of servants and peasants."

It irked Merlin greatly to be talked down to in such a tone, especially by someone who knew that he possessed at least some measure of magical talent. "Then answer my other question," he demanded. "How did I get here?"

All at once, Arawn's demeanor changed. He broke into a wide grin, one that wasn't at all pleasant. "Ah," he exclaimed with sick delight. "You haven't yet put the pieces together? I assumed the stinging from your chest wounds would be enough to at least plant a seed of suspicion in your mind, but evidently I was mistaken. I believe I _am _safe in my assumption that you remember how you sustained such wounds, yes? It might interest you to hear that your attacker was none other than my pet."

Merlin gaped. "That - that _thing _- belongs to you? You're mad. Madder than I thought. I thought anyone had more sense than to keep around some maniac beast that could swallow them in one gulp, but apparently not."

"It does not seek to swallow anyone," Arawn assured him with a dreamy look in his eyes; he spoke as if about a lover. "It seeks nothing of human flesh or blood. It does only the bidding of whoever has the means to tame it, and it feasts only on the magic of those powerful enough to ease its hunger." A sense of deep foreboding clawed its way into Merlin's stomach, almost dulling the throbbing of his chest with the way it ate at him, a raw pain that affected so much more than any physical wound. "And that is why, little sorcerer, I fear no retaliation from you, nor do I worry that I will return here one morning to find the glade deserted. You are even weaker now than a human who has never known magic, for was it not the foundation of your life?"

He laughed, the most emotion Merlin had gotten from him so far, and while it was less disconcerting than the cold apathy he had shown before, it was no less frightening. What frightened him more than either of those things, though, was the truth Arawn spoke. He felt he was as likely to break free of his bonds as Uther was to marry a troll again, intentionally this time. In other words, the prospect looked bleak at best.

Arawn picked up his spear, doused the fire by which he had been keeping warm in the dying hours of the day, and departed, disappearing into the gloom of the forest. Merlin was left in the relative darkness, shivering, for at this time of year it was hardly warm at midday, let alone late evening. The wounds on his chest were bothersome, but not so much as to make him cry out, or even to keep him up all night, for within minutes of lying with his hands held in place against the tree and nothing but the soft cricketing all around for company, he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.


	3. The Vibration

I'm extremely sorry for how long this took! I got a bit stuck... and I still don't like this chapter (mostly just the last bit), but it's high time to post. If it helps, it's almost longer than the first two combined! And I started chapter four before I actually finished this one, so hopefully that won't take as long! (Mind you, I'm usually way worse at updating than this.) Anyway, all chapters are unedited, so if you see any mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them. Any other feedback is also welcome! Reviews are love!

* * *

Chapter Three: The Vibration

It was Sir Leon who informed him of his son's return. The clattering of hooves in the courtyard first alerted Uther that someone had arrived, but Arthur would not have been his first guess. He was meant to observe the beast, take notes of its habits and examine its strengths and weaknesses; it had been but a day since he rode out.

The prince entered the throne room minutes after Leon announced him. Uther recognized in Arthur's face something akin to the look he wore when one of his favorite knights fell in combat.

Arthur dipped his head slightly, a gesture a respect. "Father."

"Arthur. What news have you? You rode out yesterday morning and it is but midday. Are you quite sure you've learned all you can? And where is your manservant?"

From the way Arthur swallowed so hard and audibly, Uther thought he could guess the answer to at least one of those questions.

"We had no chance to observe the creature as planned; it attacked us while we searched for it. Merlin… Merlin was carried off in its jaws and I was knocked unconscious."

"And so you've returned so soon to tell me you know nothing of what strategy would best kill it?"

Arthur looked mildly outraged, but he took a deep breath, drew himself up, and gathered himself back into a businesslike manner. The king did admire his son, whatever might be his outward display. His ability to control his words and actions had grown in these last few years, but his fire to protect his people had not diminished along the way.

"We fought it, father. It is unlike any beast I have ever encountered, and it's certainly of magical nature. It healed every mark we made on it, almost as soon as the blood was drawn."

The familiar ache found its way into the deep, hollow pit in Uther's stomach. Yet again it was magic that terrorized his people. Already it had killed four men; he refused to believe that there was nothing he could do to stop it. "Have you tried piercing its heart? What of cutting off its head? See if it can heal that; I daresay such a wound would fail to mend even with sorcery."

"Believe me when I say I would love nothing more than to do both of those things, sire. I will need men this time, though. The two of us alone was nowhere near enough, and we paid the price." Arthur paused, and Uther wondered if it was from contemplation or because it was difficult to speak. "I'd say five of my best knights to keep it distracted while I go for the kill."

"Five knights? Are you sure that's practical? You will lose the advantage of surprise with so many moving through the forest."

"There _is _no advantage of surprise, no matter if I go alone or with an army," Arthur said forcefully, and then took time to reign himself in again. "I'm sorry, Father. It's been a long day already. Perhaps five will be unnecessary, but I would rather take them all as a precaution than cause the death of someone who might have had a better chance otherwise."

Uther nodded. "Very well."

Arthur dipped his head again. As soon as he turned to leave, Uther closed his eyes; he didn't open them again until long after the old maple door creaked open and back shut, long after his son's footsteps faded away. There was no realistic reason to worry. Arthur, along with even the five least experienced knights of Camelot, would make a formidable fighting force against any beast, magical or not.

Despite this rationalization, the king still worried. He was not an ignorant man; he knew his son would surely not perform at his best so recently after his manservant was taken - and though Arthur had not specifically said as much, Uther guessed that the boy was already dead, and that Arthur too had come to that assumption even if he did not know for sure.

Even that, though, should surely not make a difference; six men against one beast was sure to have a single possible outcome.

Uther, his back aching from sitting so stiffly since morning, sank more comfortably against the throne and waited to hear from a messenger which knights Arthur would take with him. He sent a silent prayer to whoever might have the time to hear it, that his son would emerge from this ordeal alive and relatively unscathed.

* * *

Arthur knew what he ought to do. He ought to seek out Gaius and tell him what had happened, and also ask him if he had any advice about beasts like the one in the forest. But he couldn't do the latter without having to do the former, which he really did not even want to think about. How could he look Gaius in the eye and tell him that he had returned alone? How could he explain that he had nothing but a lump on his head while Merlin was surely the already-forgotten main course from the beast's dinner the previous night?

So instead he busied himself gathering his armor, since there was no one to do it for him now, and contemplated who to take with him on this particular quest.

Sir Leon was an obvious choice. Arthur would never forget the relief he felt knowing that one of his knights had miraculously survived the encounter with the dragon. He was only sorry that it took him so long to realize this; poor Leon had spent the night unconscious in the grass, to be found by a maid on her way to fetch water early the next morning.

He didn't doubt the loyalty of any of his knights, but though his father did not seem to think it would take much to defeat the beast, Arthur privately wondered if even five, six including himself, was a sufficient number. Uther had not been there to witness the size and ferocity of this strange creature. Who was he to judge how many knights it would require to vanquish it?

Not to mention the way he completely disregarded the fact that Merlin was dead. Arthur had not expected Uther to pretend he was sorry, or even to realize that Arthur was the tiniest bit upset from the sudden loss, but he had thought that he would get _something_, a little acknowledgement to show that Uther was aware that one of the citizens of Camelot, albeit one who had only been there for two years and in all technicality lived in Ealdor, was dead. Even a "So I suppose you need a new manservant" would have been better than nothing!

It had taken all of Arthur self control not to shout at the king, and he had nearly done so anyway.

He looked down at the state of his armor and noticed that it hadn't been polished in weeks and was getting frightfully dull. He had pointed this out to Merlin one day, who cheekily responded that it wouldn't get so dull if he didn't spend so much time ordering people to bash him around on the practice field. Arthur reminded him that generally he was the one _doing_ the bashing, not the other way around.

It was too late to ask him to polish it now, obviously. That stupid lump that kept finding its way into his throat appeared again with a vengeance, until it hurt to swallow; in fact, the pain made his eyes sting a bit. Just a bit, though, and only for a moment.

_Back on task_, he ordered himself roughly. Right. Sir Leon was definitely going, along with… Sir Cadwin, who had not only proved himself exceedingly loyal, but also had a reputation as being the most agile knight in the realm. He could wield a sword with grace and ease matched by few, and he would be well suited to avoid the swishing tail that had been Arthur's downfall.

And Sir Bricius was one of the ones who accompanied him to fight the griffin. Arthur wished suddenly that he had Lancelot here to assist him, but there was no use hoping that the man would pick today of all days to show up in Camelot. Besides, he wasn't sure how he felt about the thought of Lancelot so close to Gwen again, even though he had sworn not to get in the way.

Oh, he was so easily distracted. He still had two knights to choose. Not many stood out spectacularly to him at the moment, but over the last few weeks of training, he had definitely seen improvement in many. It was for this reason that he chose Sirs Dagonet and Bedivere, both of whom were new but promising. He wasn't sure if this was a good time to choose knights for the purpose of letting them prove themselves, but neither did he have much time to ponder his other options.

He sent a servant girl to fetch the five men for him and put on his chain mail. He wondered if yesterday might have gone differently if he and Merlin had been properly armed and worn any form of armor. It would have been impractical for their original purpose but could have been lifesaving for the way events played out.

Arthur sighed, hoping it would take some of the weight off his chest. It didn't.

* * *

They rode out within the hour, Arthur in the lead with Sir Leon not far behind. There was a disciplined silence between the riders. Sometimes Arthur almost forgot that this was how most citizens, even the knights he spent so much time with, behaved around him. Between Merlin and Gwen, he had grown accustomed to being treated like an equal instead of a crown prince. Not that he would ever admit it.

Of the knights he had brought, only Leon was comfortable enough to speak to him for anything other than comments strictly related to the mission, although he did so with formality and respect. "Forgive me for asking , sire, but what exactly happened to Merlin?"

Arthur's teeth clenched involuntarily. "The beast carried him off," he replied shortly. "I imagine he's dead by now."

"I always liked Merlin," Leon said regretfully, and had it been anyone else Arthur would have thought they were saying it only out of pity for the dead. "He always seemed to stand up for what he believed in, even if he had to disobey orders or risk his life."

Yes, Arthur supposed he had. And Leon would know, wouldn't he? Though Arthur tried to put that day from his mind, he still recalled that when he had nearly killed his own father, it was Merlin who stopped him, with Leon not far behind him, even though Uther gave Leon strict orders not to let anyone in. Neither Leon or Merlin had let that stop them, apparently; and a good thing, too, because Arthur dreaded to think what might have occurred otherwise.

Again they were forced to abandon their mounts at the edge of the forest, although purely for convenience this time, as stealth was out of the question anyway. Arthur had at least had the presence of mind to bring a length of rope with him. He unsheathed his sword and cut it into sixths large enough to tether a horse to a tree.

"On foot from here, my lord?" questioned Sir Bricius, the youngest knight of the lot and no doubt the least comfortable saying anything directly to the prince. "Would it not be faster on horseback?"

Arthur shook his head, feeling it was slightly obvious. "There is no clear path through the forest," he answered. "The trees are too thick, especially farther in. We would waste time cutting branches from our paths and navigating gaps wide enough for the horses to travel. In any case, the journey shouldn't be too long."

He thought privately that, lonely though it might be with no incessant chatter, it would be a much quicker journey with the knights than with Merlin. Even as tired as he was from having already walked the forest yesterday and ridden all morning today, he wouldn't have to stop every so often when the servant wanted to examine something more closely, or when he tripped over something that Arthur had the sneaking suspicion might have been his own feet.

His heart sunk considerably lower when he realized that since yesterday afternoon when he had awoken to discover that the beast and Merlin had vanished, he had subconsciously been comparing everything to his servant in some way. There was no convincing himself that he didn't care; the mysterious recurring lump in his throat was proof enough.

"Are you all right, sire?"

Arthur realized he had lost himself so deeply in thought that he hadn't moved or spoken. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, Leon, of course. We should get a move on, then."

Leon looked at him curiously but did not question him further, for which Arthur was grateful. He led the way past the tree line and into the darkness of the forest.

He was right; the six of them moved far more efficiently and covered more ground in less time. The silence gave Arthur a chance to observe the scenery more closely, much like Merlin had insisted on doing along the way, although the prince prided himself on the ability to walk _and _look at plants at the same time. He had to admit, it was sort of… beautiful. That was a word he hardly implemented in his vocabulary unless referring to a well-deserving woman, but there was no other way to describe the vast array of greens that slid seamlessly into each other, coexisting harmoniously in a way that didn't seem possible.

And as they drew nearer to the spot where the beast had attacked, Arthur noticed that the wildlife was bountiful again, as it should be. He took that as a sure sign that the beast was nowhere near. Very well; he had expected that. The true challenge was going to be to find where it had taken Merlin. And if a broken body was the only thing left to fight for, Arthur would do it until his last breath. Aside from any thoughts of vengeance, it was his duty to Camelot to make sure his people did not have to fear venturing into the forest. Four men had already gone into the wood, never to come out; two wives, one father, and a sister had already suffered the news that their loved one would not return to them.

If that wasn't enough to stiffen his resolve, then he could be called nothing but a coward.

The only problem was, he had no idea where the beast had gone.

It was very peculiar; he examined every twig, every leaf, every last stretch of dirt in the immediate area, and there was nothing, no evidence to tell which direction it might have taken. There were the tell-tale scuffmarks in the dirt that confirmed that this was indeed where it had attacked - like Arthur could ever forget - but he couldn't find a trail.

He tried to mentally recreate the last few moments before he was knocked out. He had seen the beast, with Merlin in its jaws, turn to leave… but which way? Try as he might, that detail was too fuzzy to recall.

"Here, sire!"

Sir Dagonet was stooped low over a shrub, running his fingers through the leaves, which looked oddly squashed on one side. "I think something trampled it," he said, rising to full height. "And if you look hard enough, there are paw prints in the dirt. They're faint, but they're there."

Arthur moved to look for himself. Sure enough, the dirt had been troubled by something, and if he squinted hard enough he could just about make out a large paw-like shape. There were a few of these, fainter and fainter the farther they went.

"But that creature was not light," he noted, almost to himself. A frown creased his brow, and a thoroughly unappreciated ache started forming in his forehead as a result. "It shook the ground, surely it would have left deeper impressions?"

"I can't explain it, sire," said Sir Leon, overhearing. "But it's all we've got, and if you ask me, it's more than enough. Did you not say the creature was magical in nature? If it's a magical beast, then it's no stretch of the imagination to think that it might not behave in the way most creatures do. For instance, perhaps it walks lightly, despite its size. Perhaps it has the power to erase any trail it might leave behind, but by pure chance didn't quite succeed in eliminating those first few steps."

Arthur broke into a grin. "That's why I like you, Leon," he said, clapping the knight on the shoulder. "Always a word of logic to put in. All right then, men, it looks like we have a trail to follow!"

The renewed energy he felt from this discovery soon faded, however, when he realized how much truth might have been in Leon's theory; the trail died away mere feet from the initial site, and though they occasionally saw something that might be connected to the beast, the evidence was thin enough to be complete coincidence.

Worse, with every step they drew nearer to the Mercian kingdom. Cendred might have been more hostile than Bayard, but nevertheless, tension still held firm between Mercia and Camelot since the poisoning incident. Bayard did not appreciate false accusations against him; though he couldn't blame him, Arthur rather thought the haughty lord was behaving unreasonably. Uther had admitted his mistake, and pride or not, Bayard should have accepted that.

Arthur feared they would have to turn around before too long, until suddenly there were no more trees around him. He had not been paying full attention to where he was going, and appeared to have come across a clearing. A glade.

Now that they were in the open, Arthur could finally tell how much time had passed. The trees had blocked the sun from sight. By now the sun had slipped low enough in the sky that he couldn't see it anyway; he supposed it was about level with the horizon, and would soon disappear beneath it.

There was nothing visibly out of the ordinary. The glade was nothing but grass encircled by trees, a ring of stones and blackened branches in the middle, no doubt from a traveling passer-by who needed a warm fire for the night. Nothing there to suggest a difference from every other glade in any forest Arthur had ever been in. And yet there was something in the air, something he could feel and almost hear. It was a dull vibration, a hypnotic hum, so small and difficult to detect but present enough to drive into his brain and leave him feeling deafened. He winced, not that it did him any good.

"Can you all hear that?" he asked. After all, it could have been his own imagination, overactive due to all the talk of magic and his fear for whatever awaited his men.

"Barely," answered Leon. "But yes."

Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that there was more than met the eye, and it bothered him that he couldn't find a source for the strange vibration, but he knew one thing for certain. The beast was not, could not, be here, and that meant it was time for them to move on.

Plunging back into the trees, less hopeful than before, Arthur kept a sharper eye out than he had. No more getting lost in thoughts. Since when did his mind start wandering so easily, anyway? He had to stick in the present, had to give his every mission everything he could. Camelot could not afford for its prince's mind to wander when he had a dangerous task at hand.

But the vibration persisted the farther he went, and it was enough that he thought for sure it would drive him mad unless it stopped soon. The other men tried to hide it, but he could see it in the identical faint grimaces all of them wore; they felt it, too. The air was charged with something mysterious, and it was becoming more and more difficult to believe that this wasn't connected to the beast.

He was just beginning to wonder if they should turn back when he found himself at sword-point. He wasn't sure how or when it happened, but he and his five knights were surrounded.

Bayard's men.

There were eight of them, all with vicious expressions, and all armed. Seven had swords, all of which were dull and had some amount of rust around the blade, and one had a crossbow. Arthur supposed that made him the leader, although he himself preferred a sword to any long-distance weapon.

"What's your business in Mercia, _my lord_?" the one with the crossbow sneered.

He heard someone behind him - Sir Bricius, probably, being the youngest and most hot-headed - begin to unsheathe a sword. "Stop," he commanded, and the blade slid back into place. "We mean no harm," he said, addressing the Mercians. "We're only looking for an animal that might have passed this way." It might have been only a portion of the truth, but one thing Uther had taught him was that it was never good to give away too much to an enemy.

"An animal, eh? So you're trespassing on our land to slay a single deer? I had no idea Camelot was so bad off it had to steal from other kingdoms just to feed its people."

Arthur caught Bricius around the chest as the knight surged forward furiously. "Camelot has no need to steal from anyone," he said loudly. "And as far as I'm aware, it's not _trespassing _to pass into another kingdom, assuming the traveling party is not seeking to invade or inflict any wrongdoing, which we are _not_. So if you'll excuse us, we'll just return to our land."

He turned to leave, and immediately felt the press of an arrowhead against his back. He craned his neck, coming face-to-face with the man with the bow, who loomed threateningly over him. His breath, puffing against Arthur's cheek with every exhalation, was foul; his teeth were rotten, and a couple were missing. Leader of this band of soldiers or not, he clearly was not a man of high position.

"You bet you will," he growled, giving the bow a shove. Arthur felt the arrow pierce his back, but did not cry out. "And you better stay there. We catch you again, we won't be so nice." The man drew back and gestured violently for the other Mercians to follow him. Arthur did the same for his own men, and the two parties gradually split, each watching the other warily, ready for any last minute strike.

"Should we report this to the king, sire?" Sir Bedivere asked when they were a good distance away, well out of earshot.

"No," Arthur said, still shaking with barely contained fury at how events had played out. "I'll tell him there was a misunderstanding with the neighboring kingdom, that's all. There's no point in troubling him with something as trivial as this." _And besides, it's personal._

At some point, he wasn't sure when, the ringing of the vibration had ceased to infiltrate his mind. A small, quiet part of him wondered if that might be important, but the larger, frustrated and angry part of him was too busy concocting daydreams of scenarios in which he and the knights brought justice to the men who, albeit unknowingly, impeded their mission.

Somehow, they _had _to return, even if it meant picking a fight with the Mercian patrol. But Arthur knew Bayard, and he knew he would not take any chances. There would be more soldiers, knights, even, protecting the forest border now that Arthur and his men had been caught there once.

"We don't know for certain that the beast went that way, sire," said Sir Leon quietly, as though he had read Arthur's thoughts.

"Yes we do," Arthur responded, in just as low a voice. It was only as he said it that he came to that conclusion. "I felt it. I don't know what it was, but there was _something _there, and it's connected. I won't rest until I know my people are safe."

Sir Leon nodded, either in agreement or understanding, Arthur wasn't sure which. The six of them trooped through the forest, defeated in one respect, and just getting prepared in another. They would come back, and no Mercian soldiers could stop them from obtaining their goal.


	4. The Burning

Sorry for how long this took! In my defense, I did write a teeny bit while on vacation, so it's not like I wasn't trying. :) Also going to have to apologize for the length of this chapter - or lack thereof. Hopefully the next will be longer, and more importantly, take less time to write. And last apology; any waffling past the first part of the chapter is accidental, and I'm sorry... it got away from me.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, alerted, or even read the story so far! It means a lot, every single time. Don't forget, if you see any mistakes, feel free to say something and I'll correct them. Also, all feedback is welcome. Enjoy chapter four!

* * *

Chapter Four: The Burning

Merlin awoke to fire.

Or, not fire, specifically, but burning. It was everywhere, but it seemed to stem from three jagged cuts on his chest. It was difficult to tell, though; his brain didn't feel like it was working how it was supposed to, and he thought perhaps that was burning, too.

Through the thick haze, he eventually came to the conclusion that his wounds must be infected. Severely infected, judging by the fact that he couldn't see straight, and the only thing he could hear was a persistent humming sound; not like someone was making up a tune, but like he was underwater.

Underwater and on fire. In his delirium, Merlin found this ironic - or at least he had the feeling of knowing something was ironic, even if he couldn't actually think of the word or what it meant. Strange, how he could remember thinking in words even though now he only had the strength to think in concepts.

For all that he felt he was underwater, he really needed a drink of water. The fire was making his throat feel oddly dry. There was something wet running down his forehead, but he doubted that was water. How would it have gotten there? Unless he really _was _submerged somewhere, about to drown if he didn't get to the surface. He couldn't bring himself to care, really, because if he drowned, the humming and the fire and the dryness and _everything _would stop.

But as he couldn't actually remember being anywhere near water last time he was conscious, he doubted in earnest that that was the case. Then what was it? Oh, yes, his wounds. He forced himself to hold on to that thought so he wouldn't lose it again. His wounds were infected. That was bad. Dangerous, even. Wasn't there someone who could help with that? Because there really should have been if there wasn't, after all, people could _die _from infection.

Why, though? Oh, yes, the burning. That was part of the infection. That was his body trying to purge it from his system. Strange how his body thought setting itself on fire would be a good solution to this problem.

Funny concept, _purge. _He didn't much like it, and could swear he knew of something else unpleasant that had to do with purging, but there was a lick of flames in the way of reaching that part of his brain. Flames… Or maybe they weren't in the way of it, but rather were part of it. Flames and a purge. How odd, that the two seemed to coincide in every manner.

Gaius. Yes, that was the name of the man who was supposed to help with these things. Well, he wasn't being very helpful now, was he? The least he could do was throw a bucket of water on Merlin so that the burning would stop, or maybe pour the bucket's contents down his throat, instead, so it would quit feeling so dry. There was something wet in his eyes, too, now, but again he couldn't see how water would have gotten there. It even stung a bit, which water wasn't meant to do.

He tried to move, to get up and find some water for himself since obviously no one was going to do it for him, but he was caught quite rudely around the wrists, which were also burning, but in a different way. This burn seemed more outward than inward. Hmm. So it wasn't just his body that thought he should be on fire right now.

Desperate, he tugged a bit on his wrists. That wasn't a good idea, as it just added another little twang of pain to the collective total, which was much higher than he liked. He stopped struggling and resigned himself to dying of thirst, if the burning didn't kill him first. Or maybe sometime Gaius would notice that he really needed a drink, and might finally provide him with one. Although he was finding it rather strange that Gaius chained him to his bed. And speaking of his bed, it was extremely uncomfortable, a lot more so than he remembered.

He sank in and out of consciousness, never really sure whether he was in or out, and not caring much, either. He soon discovered that out was slightly more comfortable, even though he couldn't remember any details of what happened during those times - not that he could remember much that happened while he was in, mind. Everything sort of slipped away, like a tendril of smoke on a windy day. There for barely a second, and then gone so soon you think you must have imagined it.

And he did a lot of imagining. For a little while, he thought he saw _people _there, and not Gaius, either, unless Gaius suddenly had much blonder hair and wore shiny silver material instead of his usual clothing. Merlin could have sworn he recognized that man from somewhere. He was blurry, with even blurrier silver shapes behind him, but if he squinted and thought really hard, he could associate the man with someone called _Arthur._

Hmm. That sounded nice enough. For good measure, Merlin said the name out loud. Or tried, kind of. If it came out, he didn't hear it, but then all he could hear was that damn humming, anyway.

The hallucination disappeared, though, and Merlin was back to burning in peace, wondering vaguely if one of these illusions would turn out to be kind and solid enough to get him some water.

* * *

The place where Morgana stayed with Morgause couldn't quite be called a castle. It had the structural basics of one, yes, and if it were about five times larger and under the ownership of a royal family, it could be, but it was neither of those things. It was tall, like a castle tower, but without the rest of the castle around it, and nothing to suggest there ever had been. Thus, its width was sorely lacking.

The land it rested upon, on the other hand, stretched far, hidden magically by means of a spell performed not by Morgause, but by the sorceress who'd lived there previously. Morgana did not ask what happened to her, and doubted very much that she wanted to know.

In the middle of their extensive grassland was where Morgause taught Morgana magic. They kept themselves nearly equidistance between the tower and the forest; their illusion stopped about midway into the trees, leaving them the freedom to gather herbs as they wished without getting caught. Nothing magical could be seen to a commoner's eye unless they allowed it. Nevertheless, Morgana tried to avoid the forest if she could; beyond it lay Uther's kingdom, and besides, the spell weakened the farther it was from the tower.

"What are you teaching me today?" Morgana asked eagerly, sitting cross-legged on the ground. she did not miss having to act like a lady all the time. It was nice to feel connected with the earth, in such ways that only men were supposed to enjoy in Camelot.

Morgause beamed down at her, offering a hand to help her to her feet, although Morgana wished longingly that she could sit there forever. "I want you to learn offensive magic," she said, and Morgana's heart sank. It could have been a coincidence - perhaps Morgause had been planning to do this all along and just so happened to pick now. "I was going to show you a few basic shortcuts to tedious tasks, but those can wait. The time is coming when offensive spells might be useful to you."

Morgana nodded, not sure what else to do. It might be useful, knowing how to protect herself; Morgause didn't have to know they had different motives.

"This is much more difficult than anything I have shown you before," Morgause began, distancing herself from Morgana and pacing back and forth, eyes never leaving her sister. "You will need to concentrate solely on the spells when you cast them; waver for a moment, or mispronounce a single syllable, and you'll be as good as any common damsel in distress." She said this with utter contempt, and Morgana couldn't help but agree. Some women were just _useless, _and instead of fighting back would dissolve into tears or beg for mercy. Not her and Morgause.

She almost reassured her sister that Merlin wouldn't attack her, but stopped herself in time. Besides, she had to wonder deep down if it were true. How far would he go to ensure she and Morgause couldn't cause trouble in Camelot? Before she never would have guessed he'd have the nerve to harm her, or anyone for that matter, but his courage obviously withstood all obstacles, even those like friendships that should never have become obstacles in the first place.

Perhaps she wasn't _quite _ready for complete forgiveness yet. Although she wasn't even sure if Merlin was the one she needed to forgive anymore.

"Your mind is wandering already," Morgause commented, snapping Morgana back to the present. "Perhaps you're not quite ready. Another time, then?"

"No!" Morgana said quickly. "No, everything's fine, I promise. I'm ready." She smiled, the perfectly realistic fake smile she was used to showing Uther, but never to Morgause. Why did she have to feel torn, wherever she went? Was there nowhere she could stop pretending?

Morgause stared at her, calculating Morgana's expression as though she knew there was a mask in place, but she did not press further. "Good. Then we shall begin. First of all, the most important weapon you can have on your side is fire…"

As it turned out, fire for burning and fire for destruction were two very different things. Quite apart from the complexity of the weapon's incantation versus the simplicity of the tool's, Morgana learned there was a distinct difference between conjuring something and conjuring something and _keeping _it there. The former was just a matter of willing something into existence and then making it appear. The latter required real connection to what was conjured.

For instance, once the flames began to leap in the tall grass, Morgana was forced to control it, and to do that she had to ensure that at all times, one part of her mind was still paying attention to and concentrating on the fire. If she turned her full attention away from it, it disappeared.

Morgause made this increasingly more challenging, throwing harmless bits of rock her way for distraction, which she had to dodge while maintaining a steady blaze. Then Morgause told her to make the fire move; she soon had to dodge small bolts of energy while creating a flaming ring around the two of them.

It was completely exhausting, and all this without ever making the fire resemble a shape, or creating a live beast from the flames, both of which Morgause promised they would achieve in time. So far she only knew how to throw it, which admittedly was useful in itself.

After hours - how time flew so quickly when they were practicing, Morgana couldn't fathom - of blocking attacks, dueling with fire, and creating an inferno so tall it rivaled the tower, she collapsed in the grass, chest heaving and hair slicked against her face with sweat, both from the heat and the effort. She felt she couldn't perform another spell if her life depended on it.

Again Morgause helped her up, whispering an enchantment to cool her skin. "That's enough for now," she said, leading her back to the tower. "If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, we'll move on to more powerful, more dangerous spells tomorrow and come back to fire later. It's hardly the best weapon I can give you. If you're still tired from today's lesson, I'll give you time to rest."

"You don't seem in any hurry to teach me," remarked Morgana, finding it odd that someone so keen to make sure her vision came true lacked a sense of urgency.

"If this is your destiny, it will wait for you. I do not want you unprepared; there is no rush to bring about what is already known to happen."

_Destiny might be willing to wait_, Morgana thought dryly. Whoever wanted to kill Merlin, though, might not.

* * *

Gaius could have sworn he saw Arthur that morning, but it was odd; the man was nowhere to be found now, and Merlin hadn't even stopped by to say hello yet. He understood his nephew was busy, often with things he never should've gotten into in the first place, but it was just plain unusual for him not to enter his chambers all day long.

Now night was falling, and still he had not seen hide nor hair of either the crown prince or the foolish warlock. It was possible they had returned to the forest, but without explaining as much? He liked to think Merlin confided everything in him, with few exceptions, and unless Merlin had recognized the beast on sight he should have at least come to ask if Gaius knew anything about it.

With no patients to distract him, he grew more troubled the longer he sat alone in the silent chambers, and finally he could wait no longer. Someone, somewhere in the castle, was bound to know something about the whereabouts of _Arthur_ if not Merlin, and Merlin was probably with him wherever he was.

But not even young Gwen had any news to report on the matter, and she was his best bet. "I'm sorry, Gaius, I really am," she said, which he could have gleaned from the look on her face. "I didn't even know they returned, let alone that they've gone back. It's weird, Arthur didn't even say hello… not that he should! I mean, I'm just a servant, but…" She wore the same worried, bemused look Gaius supposed he did. He wasn't the only person in the castle whose loved one had gone without a word.

No other servant knew much more, except for one girl who said Arthur had asked her to fetch a few knights for him, whom Gaius presumed he had taken to the forest with him. If so, then they had definitely come and gone, and in a rush it sounded like. Perhaps Merlin had simply not had the time to find him and say anything.

Finally he checked with the knights who had stayed behind, but it was the same story from a different point of view; the servant girl had come and told Sirs Leon, Bedivere, Bricius, Dagonet, and Cadwin that he needed them to help defeat the beast in the forest. None of them had seen Merlin. In fact, no one had.

Gaius's logical mind reasoned that Merlin must have stayed in the courtyard to mind the horses or something similar. In any case, he felt much more at ease when he went to bed that night, knowing that his nephew was with Arthur and five trained knights. And if all else failed and the need was great enough, he could always use his magic.


	5. The Divulgence

Sorry again for the wait! I knew where I needed to end, I just couldn't get there. Arthur seems to have something against me. In any case, here's chapter five! Let me know what you think, or if you see any mistakes! If you get the chance, I have a new one-shot collection about the characters' childhoods, called _Innocence. _First chapter features young Merlin and Will. :)

Also - has anyone else been having troubles with the Merlin section on the site? It does this dumb thing where it says the most recently updated things are from a long time ago... :\ Could just be me, but it's really irritating.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five: The Divulgence

He couldn't really tell if he was blinking; he didn't feel anything, and whether his eyes were open or closed, he could only see a painfully bright array of colors. It was becoming more and more obvious that this was not a healthy experience. He was almost positive he remembered _shapes_, and the blur of color had none. He also remembered definitive noise, beyond that of the constant humming that filled his ears.

His mouth had much less room that he was accustomed to, owing to the fact that his tongue had swollen from lack of water. All concept of drowning was banished; Merlin had never felt so dry in all his life.

Even the salty substance coating his skin was becoming more sticky and less wet, and provided him little to no comfort. He wasn't even sure what comfort was anymore. It was a sensation he could almost imagine, but then a fresh wave of heat rolled over him and it was gone.

At this point he would have welcomed any change. Darkness would be better than the blinding lights. Coolness was certainly a good alternative to overwhelming heat. He wanted ice over fire, wet over dry.

In some sense he thought he should've been able to help himself. Wasn't there something he always had with him that was supposed to prevent these situations? Why the hell hadn't he been carrying it with him when this happened?

Hell. Huh. That word sounded like it applied to his condition, though he couldn't figure out how. It was so frustrating, having words float around in his mind and being unable to connect them to an image.

But there _was _an image. Was that hell? Was Hell the name of an impossibly tall man who wore spiders' webs crisscrossed on his arms? The man definitely _reminded _him of hell, like he'd looked at him once and thought the word then. But hang on; how was he seeing this, anyway? He hadn't been able to see for ages!

Hell was steadily getting clearer, as was his mind, and soon he was marveling at the thoughts of real _words _again, words that made sense. Out of the colors, the world materialized around him surreally, deepening in dimension until all of it was _real. _His mind still buzzed a little, his tongue still occupied more of his mouth than usual, and the sweat still clung to him everywhere. But now he could see, hear, _think_, and the feeling of drowning was gone, taking the damned underwater humming with it. He could still recall the weight of delirium, but he remembered it with a new clarity; it was like resurfacing after a long swim in gloomy water.

"Welcome back," drawled Arawn, thought Merlin would now forever think of him as the man from hell, the devil himself. "I almost feared I was too late in returning. You're no use to me dead."

"I don't see what use I am to you alive," Merlin countered. He worked himself into a sitting position; he was splayed rather uncomfortably from all the tossing and turning done while under the fever's grip. The wounds on his chest still hurt, but no longer unbearably so. For sure, they were no longer infected.

There was only one way that could have happened.

"You're a sorcerer," he said, frowning up at Arawn.

The man shook his head and smiled slightly. "I? No, I am nothing so simple as that. Memorizing spells, stealing the earth's power and building oneself upon it… it's all a bit weak."

"Then how did you heal me?"

Arawn laughed ,the same laugh as before, and Merlin instinctively shrank back a little. "I did not heal you, little sorcerer. I told you, I do not dabble in your arts. My power is above the trivial tricks you call magic; after all, mine is the reason yours has deserted you."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. This man's description of sorcery did not apply to him. He stole no power, only drew from his own, the mysterious pool of energy resting in his very being that had been a part of him since before he took his first breath. "You said the beast fed off of magic, and that's why mine won't work."

"Ah, but that's the heart of the matter. It does indeed, and using only the gifts nature blessed it with, but I am blessed with gifts as well. Your magic is at the mercy of the beast, but the beast is also at the mercy of another; _me_."

And then it appeared in the glade, crashing the trees opposite the one holding Merlin prisoner, roaring with all the fury of hell's captive souls. Who was this man, who said he possessed no magic yet had the power to control a beast such as this? What was this beast that destroyed and mended all at once?

"It extended its healing powers to expel the infection from your body," Arawn told him, and Merlin really hoped the loving tone was intended for the beast and not for him. "All I had to do was ask, and it complied. It has the power to do so much, and I have the power to order it into action. Sometimes I think its name is so unfair… Farwolaeth, it's called. I expect you know what it means."

Merlin did, and it made him feel no better to know that he was literally at the mercy of a beast called Death. He did, however, have to agree with Arawn in one respect; it was hardly fair to give a creature such a foul name when it was capable of doing good as well. That wasn't to say he liked the Farwolaeth. He only wondered how different it could be if someone like Arawn wasn't controlling it.

The beast roared again and bounded closer to Merlin. It stopped very abruptly five feet from him - far too close for his liking, but at least it had stopped at all. "I told it not to go any closer," Arawn explained, but Merlin had guessed as much. It acted as though it couldn't move forward any more if it tried, though it snarled and swished its reptilian tail back and forth threateningly. Its foul breath was detectable from a distance.

"How does it work?" Merlin asked, and not because he was disbelieving, but because as someone who had grown up knowing magic and learning what all it could do, he was genuinely curious as to what could cause such a connection.

"It was with me at birth," Arawn said softly, and Merlin knew that he meant not only the creature, but the feeling deep inside, the one that you'd always had there and that felt natural, but somehow you just _knew _it wasn't something everyone had. "My parents were like you - so easily swayed by the magic of the earth, determined to make it theirs. They both died when my mother gave birth to me. I think they'd used too much, and the earth needed it back, so it took its rightful belongings… but they fought back."

Merlin locked eyes with the Farwolaeth, and his head began to swirl with images. A man holding a tiny in his arms, his wife beside him on a cot, both of them pale. A gale of wind, though they were indoors. A glow that surrounded them and began to fade away.

The man put the baby down and started to chant with his wife, voices growing in pitch as they grew more frantic, clinging with all their might to their lives and their magic, and outside the window, a beast the size of a pony standing in the midst of the fierce wind, the eye of the storm.

They were fighting, Merlin knew. The husband and wife, fighting to keep their magic, but whatever they had done with it was too much for the earth to allow, and it attacked with all its might, a might more powerful than any mere sorcerer. They became weaker with every passing second until finally, they slumped forward, first the woman and then the man.

The wind ceased, and through it all had been a baby and a beast, caught amid the swirl of magic, and there was a strange aura around them both, and the reason for it was clear; the earth had reclaimed its magic, but a sliver of it was left behind.

Merlin blinked, and the scene faded effortlessly back into present day, back to the glade and Arawn and the Farwolaeth. Arawn faced away from him, a hand gently stroking his hideous pet's throat.

"You see," Arawn said in that deadly quiet voice he had. "We were connected by the earth itself. I took nothing that was not mine, only accepted what was given to me. You, a petty sorcerer who spends his time gloating about a power that is not his to possess, would never understand the bond."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, because I'm really going to gloat about being a sorcerer while I'm polishing Arthur's precious boots. Believe me, it's not something you talk about in Camelot if you want to keep your head attached."

Arawn swirled around, a mad light gleaming in his eyes, and Merlin knew he must have said very much the wrong thing.

"Arthur?" he said, and it scared Merlin to hear how excited he was. No emotion from this man so far had meant anything good, especially not for him. "You're the servant to the _prince of Camelot_?"

This definitely didn't mean anything good for him.

* * *

It was shameful, riding back to Camelot once again with the beast's threat still lurking, uncontested, in the forest to the north. There were only so many times a man could tell his father he'd failed, and having done it just yesterday, Arthur was far from keen to do it again just yet.

Leon provided his only encouragement. "The king knows full well that Mercia's behavior is hostile," he pointed out. "You could not have risked your life just for the sake of finding out if the beast had passed that way; your father will understand that."

Arthur wasn't convinced, but the knight's words were appreciated nonetheless. How did he always know just what to say to make him feel better? So similar, yet _so _different from his relationship with Merlin.

Because Merlin wouldn't have made him feel better. He would have said something to make Arthur chuckle to himself or roll his eyes, some off-hand comment about how doomed he was going to be once Uther heard the news.

Suddenly it all came down on him in a way it hadn't before. Merlin wasn't just _gone. _He was never coming back. And no one in Camelot could quite act like him, do the things he did, say things exactly how he said them. With no Merlin by his side, Arthur might as well have been alone.

He tightened his grip on the reins; it felt like the world should have ended, like he ought to have been torn in half the moment his friend left the world. He didn't know when he had begun to think this way - possibly the moment he'd woken up to find the faithful servant gone - but what mattered was that he did.

Why was he here, unharmed when somewhere lay a broken body, already beginning to decay so that it wouldn't be Merlin anymore, merely a carcass? It hurt to think that way, yes, and deep in his heart was a puncture wound, but where was the empty feeling that should have been all that remained when part of him died with Merlin?

He was torn, between misery from Merlin's death and misery that he didn't feel _more_, when he knew that he could.

He really needed to hit something.

They reached the castle at about the same time Arthur did the day before, which would be Uther's first hint that all had not gone according to plan. Arthur couldn't keep at bay a sense of déjà vu, between the familiar horseback ride and the weight in his stomach. The presence of his knights around him provided little comfort, but at least this time his mind was not attempting to wrestle with the tragedy he knew had happened. He had accepted it as truth now. Or at least, accepted it as much as he ever would.

A knight - not Leon this time, as Leon was with him - preceded them into the throne room, announcing his presence to a king who was probably well aware of it already. Sometimes Arthur thought the customs of the kingdom were needless, foolish even. What use was it to forewarn the king of visitors when he would have less than a minute to prepare for their entrance, anyway? All it did was waste time, and sometimes time was crucial.

These were some of the things the prince noted with care when he had enough time alone to really examine the place that was his future, so that when he ascended to the throne and became king, he would have some idea where to begin, where to round the edges of certain things in a way that might improve them. There were punishments that he didn't always think fit the crime, and tension between kingdoms that he thought they could easily repair relations with if they took the time to try.

The knight returned, closing the door partway behind him and motioning for them to enter. "The king will see you now," he said formally, and Arthur wanted to point out that he was the king's bloody _son, _and he'd better be able to see his father about business that they'd already discussed. He paused before going inside, though; he still wasn't sure what to expect for a reaction. He was no coward, but that didn't mean he liked facing Uther when the king was in an unpleasant mood.

"Leon, you come with me," he ordered, knowing that Leon would not think any less of him should Uther choose to talk down to him, and he might even calmly defend Arthur, whereas Arthur would probably be too busy trying to hold back his indignation and his temper to reasonably explain his side of things. "The rest of you are free to go."

And he, followed by Leon, entered the throne room, hoping for the best but bracing for the worst.

King Uther sat upon the throne looking fairly content, his eyes fixed on Arthur as he approached. Sunlight through the window made the crown on his head shine with gold and precious stones, a reminder that he was the superior lord between the two of them. He waited until they both came to a standstill to speak.

"Back so soon, Arthur?" he remarked, but not in a particularly condescending tone. "You needn't look so wary, I'm hardly going to launch an attack on you. I take it from your apprehensiveness that you were not successful?"

"No, father." Arthur swallowed. "We were unable to locate the beast, and were hindered from further search by a Mercian patrol. They're still taking every caution since the incident with the goblet, and the six of us must have been enough to spark fear of an invasion." The lie rolled easily off his tongue, aided partially by the fact that he suspected there was some truth to it, even if the Mercians would never admit it. "In any case, they aren't about to let us cross the border any time soon, and all the signs show that the beast went in that direction."

The king considered this, then nodded slowly. "I see. Then we should look at your expedition as a victory after all." This was puzzling, until he added, "The beast is Bayard's problem now, and as he will not allow us passage into his land, he can hardly come to us for aid."

Leon raised his eyebrows in shock, just as Arthur let out a noise of protest. "Father, you can't mean-" He realized that this was exactly the kind of outburst he had feared, and took a moment to ease the appalled expression off of his face. "Sire," he started again, after taking a few deep breaths. "Just because it's moved into Mercia's territory for now doesn't mean it is no longer a threat to Camelot. Who knows how far it moved? It could still be minutes away from the border!"

Uther raised a gloved hand to silence him, and Arthur obediently closed his mouth, though there was much more he wanted to say on the matter, half of which he wanted to keep private anyway. "If it returns to Camelot, we will deal with it, but until then… let Bayard sweat over the new danger to his people. Perhaps his men will even produce enough skill to rid us of the foul creature."

They met each other's gaze, and Arthur knew the conversation was closed. He departed at a brisk pace, leaving Leon at his usual post guarding the throne room door.

He stalked down the halls, not going anywhere specific, hoping that if he burned enough energy through movement that the fury he harbored toward his father's decision might fade. Morgana had once described Uther to be an idle king, and Arthur had disagreed at the time, but now he wondered if she had a point. What kind of king was content to sit back and let a danger such as this roam free, merely because it _might _have left his land?

For a man who professed to hate magic so much, Arthur would have expected him to stop at nothing to make sure a creature connected to it was destroyed. He'd grown up hearing stories of how Uther had all the dragons killed, whether they were in Camelot or three kingdoms over, and he didn't believe the king had become any less bold on his attack of sorcerer since then. Why was it that the one time Arthur wanted nothing more than to tear the beast apart with his bear hands, Uther refused to let him continue his search?

So immersed in his ponderings, he almost ran straight into Guinevere, who as it was nearly dropped the tray of food she held in her hands. She began to stutter out an apology, then saw who it was and immediately ceased talking altogether, her mouth still open in a little "o."

"Guinevere," Arthur acknowledged, forcing himself to smile. It must have looked tight, because she furrowed her brow and peered closely at him.

"Are you all right, Arthur?" she said, moving the tray into one arm and balancing it against her hip. "You seem a bit… tense. Did something happen? Only no one really knows what's been going on, since you left right after you got here. Gaius said Merlin didn't even stop in yesterday, but he thought it was because you were…" She trailed off when she realized Arthur wasn't saying anything. "Arthur?" she pressed, a note of concern in her voice.

Arthur's heart just about stopped when he heard her say Gaius' name. He had been too cowardly to confront the physician the first time he returned, and after that, it had slipped his mind that Gaius would have no way of knowing what happened to Merlin. The only one he'd told was Uther, and there was no chance his father would ever think of mentioning it to Gaius.

He felt frozen under Gwen's unwavering gaze, knowing he had to tell her the truth but not knowing how to do it kindly. "Gwen, we… Merlin… didn't exactly come back with us. He-" He could have just stopped there, because from the look on Gwen's face, she understood the gist of the message, but she deserved to hear it all. "-He was taken. The beast carried him off in its jaws. I don't think there's any hope."

Her wide, hurt eyes broke him more than anything, because it was the first proof he'd seen that something was amiss. Until now, it was only what he hadn't seen that caused the ache in his chest. "No. There has to be," she whispered, letting the tray slip out of her shaking hands. "He can't have - it's just not right!"

He knew exactly what she meant.

"Come on," he said gently, pulling her into a tight embrace and letting her bury her face in his shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to your house." His eyes fell on the food scattered on the floor. "Another servant can clean up this mess."

"No." Gwen pushed him away, though not forcefully. "We have to tell Gaius. We can't just leave him to - he thinks Merlin's safe. He needs to know what happened, and you've got to tell him." She laced her fingers with his, giving him a small smile that didn't meet her watery eyes.

With a heavy heart, Arthur allowed Guinevere to lead him up the long flight of stairs to the physician's chambers, chambers that he was very familiar with. When he was younger, he used to come to Gaius when he needed someone to make him feel better and his father wasn't available. And of course, he came here whenever he needed a wound treated. As of late, though, he came to collect his manservant, who seemed to have forgotten that it was _his _job to attend to _Arthur_, not the other way around.

He didn't even knock on the door before it swung open to reveal a smiling old man; Arthur supposed Gaius had heard them coming. The physician's smile weakened slightly when he didn't see Merlin, and he raised an eyebrow, but beckoned them inside anyway. Arthur and Gwen looked at each other, both thinking the same thing; Gaius's smile was going to disappear completely when they told him the news.

"I don't think anyone was expecting you back so soon, sire," Gaius said, shelving a few of the books that were always lying around. "Although come to think of it, no one was exactly sure why you left again in the first place. Where's Merlin got to? Normally this is the first place he goes, unless he's working for you, but as you're here, I doubt that's the case."

Arthur tried really hard not to think about a cheerful Merlin bounding through the door to greet Gaius, chattering away about how unfair Arthur was, and going into exaggerated detail about how ferocious the beast was. He kept his mind focused on what he had to do, not what could have happened if he had managed to protect Merlin better. All the same, he took a deep breath and let it out again, every part of him hating to say this.

"Gaius, I have to tell you something, and you're really not going to want to hear it."


	6. The Heartache

I apologize once again for the lack in update... I'm afraid that this is much more like my normal updating habits than the times when it takes me less than a week to post a chapter. On the bright side, and I know I say this just about every time, chapter seven is already in the works and looking a bit smoother a ride than this one, which proved a struggle, and I'm still not satisfied. That said, I feel obligated to post something.

Thanks to all the kind reviews, and to those who have favorited and alerted! It continues to blow my mind every time I get an e-mail from . As always, this is unedited, and it would be most helpful if you point out any mistake you see! Enjoy!

Ooh! I almost forgot! Bonus points if you catch the (very mild) HP reference. :)

* * *

Chapter Six: The Heartache

The second lesson was considerably more vigorous than the first. Despite a few lingering reservations, Morgause no longer feared hurting her sister if it meant fulfilling the greater good, and more than that, she knew Morgana's limits now and could estimate where the line was that she shouldn't cross.

Again and again, she fired off spells and deflected or dodged Morgana's counterattacks. They were focusing on the types of defensive magic that cut straight to the point today. Well, not _straight_ to the point. There were ways of killing a man so quickly he would never realize he'd died, but for now Morgause wanted Morgana to learn the fundamentals of magical attack. Throwing a kind of heat that worked best on skin, launching swords and other weapons at opponents, and gaining enough control over them to create a full-fledged fight without necessarily being in the same room, even.

_"Flæsc_ _edwylm_," Morgana commanded, and a sheet of translucent orange shot forward from her outstretched palm. Morgause put little effort into the shield she conjured to block it. The sheet of energy split around an invisible wall and vanished, completely spent.

It was almost unnatural how quickly Morgana caught on to spells with fire. She struggled much more when it came to things like controlling steel, conjuring water, the asphyxiation spell she'd attempted earlier that same day. Morgause dismissed it as a gift, much like the gift of a Seer's visions. There were things about Morgana she would probably never understand in full, but it was part of the reason she respected her so much. An air of mystery was something to be admired.

She didn't bother to defend herself from the next round of killer flames, for it was not especially difficult to step to the side and let it pass. The force behind it was impressive, though, as were the mace and spear that followed in quick succession, thrown by magic and enchanted not to fall until they hit their target. Morgause cancelled the enchantment with a single word, letting them collapse unmoving at her feet.

Morgana was not discouraged; she summoned a whirlwind of flame and sent it hurtling forward. She lost control before it even reached the blonde sorceress, but the initial power and the sheer magnitude of the inferno was beyond what she should probably have been capable of.

The boy, Merlin, didn't stand a chance.

Day after day, Morgause asked herself how he could have known Morgana was the key to the curse. Yes, she was the only one awake in the whole of Camelot, but what mere servant could come to the conclusion that that was linked to the cause? Let alone, come to the conclusion and _do _something about it. In her mind, servants were the ones cowering in the corner while their masters did the dangerous work.

One thing was for certain. The boy knew more than he ought, and nothing but good could come from Morgana's fate to kill him.

At first she had doubted her sister's resolve. The way she stuttered when the subject was brought up, made excuses, wouldn't meet her eye - Morgause wondered if Morgana didn't desire this as much as she did. Now, however, noting how the spells flying her direction were becoming even more forceful, she truly believed in the passion her sister must still carry from waking up to discover a so-called friend fed her poison.

Passion, however, would not make up for aim. The vast majority of the spells were missing their intended target: Morgause. It wasn't because she was dodging them, either, because she hadn't moved in a while.

Another streak of orange meant to incinerate her on contact soared harmlessly a foot to her left and scorched a black ring in the grass.

"Morgana!" Morgause said loudly, and her sister stopped in the middle of an incantation, looking like she knew very well why Morgause was interrupting the duel. There were rings around her eyes, Morgause noticed. "Have you been having nightmares?" she asked gently, rushing over to take Morgana's arm.

Morgana nodded almost imperceptibly. "Every night," she whispered, and thought that only meant three nights total, Morgause knew the distress it caused. She remembered the nights when she was very young, when she would awaken in the dark, no one there to comfort her or talk her through it because no one _knew_. Finally, and not long before she died, her mother gave her the bracelet, and her sleep had become blissfully dreamless.

"Always the same thing?"

Another nod. Morgause didn't like the look in the other woman's eyes. It was fear, and a tiny bit of dread. Why dread this future, however unpleasant it might be to watch unfold night after night? Why fear the things she could do? It might not take much power to get rid of vermin like the boy servant, but all the same, Morgana had potential. Potential she could never reach if she let her fear of the nightmares get in the way.

It was her job as family to make sure her sister saw that.

She moved her hand from Morgana's wrist to her shoulder, searching her eyes with her own. "You've got to let it go. I know I said I wouldn't push you, and I really don't want to see these nightmares cause you pain, but if you harness their power to fuel your magic, you could be great. You could be more than that, even, if you wanted."

Morgana stared right back, and as they gazed at each other, neither speaking nor blinking nor moving at all, a sort of peace washed itself into her wide blue orbs. She reached slowly with her left arm and pulled the bracelet off her wrist, letting it hit the grass with the barest thud.

"All right," she relented softly. "It's not done me much good the last few nights, anyway."

Morgause smiled brightly. She won, that's what this meant. No, more than that - they _both _won. They won everything that mattered, because with the two of them at their best, they would be an unstoppable force. Forget Merlin; that was so trivial it almost wasn't worth the trouble to think about. Together they could go on to crush the Pendragons and their precious Camelot, and the whole world if they chose.

Best not to get ahead of herself, though. Morgana had much to learn, and only so much time available each day in which to do so. They would get the job done, and soon they would be the most revered sorceresses of all time. And above the glory they would achieve, beyond the fame they would earn, they would have the most valuable thing of all, completely untouchable to anyone else.

They would have each other.

* * *

Gaius had had plenty of preparation for this moment. Time and time again he was faced with his nephew's mortality; the poison from the goblet, finding him slumped in Arthur's chambers when the Sidhe attacked, his venture to the Isle of the Blessed, the moment when he though Sigan had gotten to him, and most dreadful of all, watching him ride out to meet Kilgharrah with nothing but the knowledge that his father was a Dragon Lord.

It wasn't like he'd never envisioned this day. It wasn't like he hadn't imagined the words ringing in his mind with a thousand different voices: _"Merlin is dead." _But imagining and hearing two very different experiences.

"Gaius," Arthur said, softer than the physician had ever heard him speak. It was not soft enough to break the rigid layer that encased Gaius' body, though. He couldn't move, only stare at the prince with disbelief in his eyes, but the ache in his heart told him to believe it, because this? This was _real_. No more fear for this day's arrival. It was here.

"Thank you for telling me, sire," he said just as softly, but only because he couldn't convince his voice to get any louder. He forced his shaking legs to turn away, and felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. Gwen, he thought, but then Gwen spoke, and her voice sounded farther away.

"I'm so sorry, Gaius. I know how much he meant to you…" Every word trembled.

He doubted she really understood what Merlin was to him - Gwen had a kind heart, and she'd suffered her share of tragedy and hardship, but she knew nothing of what it was like to have fate give someone a way to atone for the sins of the past, to right what one wronged a long time ago. Merlin was his blood kin, yes, and he couldn't love the boy more. But more than that, Merlin was his second chance.

He dimly realized that if Gwen was far away, then by process of elimination it was _Arthur's_ palm resting on his shoulder, and that served to make things so much worse, because Arthur Pendragon would not act so boldly unless something truly terrible had happened. And it had. Gaius felt like a father losing his only child.

"I should have told you sooner," Arthur said, and Gaius shook his head numbly. Yes, he should have, but he completely understood why he hadn't; he didn't want to say it any more than Gaius wanted to hear it. Besides, there was no room in his heart for anger, not now. Sorrow would probably be his primary emotion for a long while.

"Describe the beast," he demanded with no preamble. He wanted, needed, to know more. A stubborn voice in the back of hi mind said that if he could put a name to Merlin's killer, then it would dull the pain, or maybe by some wild chance it would turn out the creature was really harmless, no matter how it might have appeared to Arthur.

The prince withdrew his hand and sat down in one of Gaius's few chairs. Gwen took the one across from him, not sure she wanted to be standing while Arthur gave his account.

"It was… huge. Enormous, actually, with legs that were about as tall as I am. And it had scales - like a snake, not like the dragon. It had so many teeth, and its _breath_! Its breath was like rotting-" He broke off suddenly and glanced at Gwen, who looked like she knew exactly what he was about to say. "Meat," he finished lamely, averting her eyes.

Racking his brain, Gaius couldn't think of anything that matched the description, but no matter; he wasn't usually able to pull something out of the top of his head. He had his books. All he had to do was search through them. If he found anything vaguely resembling what Arthur described, he'd show it to the prince for his opinion.

He searched wordlessly for his lexicon on magical creatures; there was no time to lose. If there was any chance at all that Merlin was still alive, the book would prove it, and then… then, ideally, Arthur would rush to rescue the boy who so often did the same thing for him. If not… well, Arthur was hardly the only man who owed Merlin his life.

"Gaius," he heard the prince say, but carried on shoving books carelessly aside in his quest for the one that mattered. "Gaius, I won't tell you it's useless, because I don't want to believe that and you'd probably ignore me anyway. But think about it; do you want to get your hopes up now, only to have to grieve again later on?"

Without turning around or otherwise slowing in what he was doing, Gaius replied calmly, "Grief is the risk I choose to take if the alternative is a chance to see that boy safe again."

His fingers finally found the familiar cover, and he pulled it from beneath a towering stack of anatomical studies. He smiled a little, recognizing the top one from when Merlin pretended he had an interest in the subject.

He would do what it took to find the name of Merlin's reptilian killer. And when he found it, he would soak in every word for any slight suggestion that maybe it wasn't merely a killer after all.


	7. The Usual

I finished this much more quickly than I anticipated! I'm really nervous about dropping hints in the text, because while I've tied them together mentally, it might be difficult writing it out in the future... but I'll do my best, of course. Thank you to everyone who's reading this, and special thanks to my reviewers! I love hearing feedback for my stories. And also, seriously, don't be afraid to point out typos! I don't edit, thus, they happen.

And - shameless plugging - if you're interested, I wrote a couple of Harry Potter fanfics the other day. I wouldn't mind feedback on those, either. ;D

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Usual

"You're the servant to the _prince of Camelot_?"

"Does it matter whose servant I am?" Merlin demanded, trying again for that false sense of bravado. "It all comes down to the same thing: I'm shining a royal prat's boots."

Arawn's face was uncomfortably close, and his breath wasn't much better than the Farwolaeth's. "It matters a great deal when it means I haven't failed after all."

Though he couldn't be certain what that meant exactly, Merlin had a pretty good idea. He should have known; Arawn had been dropping hints all over the place. _"Why do you think you, of all people, are worth my time trying to capture?" "Do not think I waste my days away striving to capture the likes of servants and peasants." _He'd never said he wasn't looking to capture _anyone_.

"And how haven't you failed? I work for Arthur, that's not the same as being him. Whatever you want with him, I can't give it to you." He tried to move his lips as little as possible when he spoke; Arawn was so near they could kiss if they moved even a hairbreadth closer. The thought repulsed him.

"Oh, but you can give me the next best thing." Merlin really wished Arawn would return to his strange emotionless state. Anything was better than the dangerous way his eyes glittered. "You can give me _him_."

Merlin mind raced, as did his heartbeat. He had to be careful what he said from this point on. Whatever he chose to do to put Arawn off the idea, he needed to make sure it sounded authentic. Anything less would get him - or worse, Arthur - killed.

This man knew nothing about him or his relationship with Arthur. As far as he knew, they acted no better or worse than most servants and masters did to each other. He had only Merlin's word, and the way Merlin's word was delivered.

"I know what you're thinking," Merlin said, throwing as much meaning behind his work as he could muster, pretending this was the only truth he knew, trying to _live _it in that moment. "It's not going to work, you'll never get the prince to come for me. The only person he cares about is the one who looks back at him in the mirror. He treats his servants like dirt…" He let that hang, pulling a face of intense dislike, though he tried to refrain from going too over the top. He couldn't well spin a tale of abuse, lest Arawn grow suspicious of how casually he'd spoken of Arthur before.

Arawn drew back at last; his knees cracked when he stood up. "He will come," he said in an irrefutable tone. "I will consult with Farwolaeth, and he and I will discover a way to force the prince to come."

He strolled leisurely to his resting pet, which was on the other side of the clearing once more. Merlin wondered skeptically whether they could truly communicate, or if Arawn was so insane he couldn't tell the difference. He supposed it was possible, given the already bizarre nature of their connection.

After a long period of silence - it must have been a purely telepathic conversation, if indeed a conversation took place - Arawn said softly, "I will win, you know. I am unique, a fact which not even you would deny. I will succeed where other have failed, because they were ordinary."

"And what is you're going to do?"

"You already know the answer."

"_Say it."_

Something in his voice must have broken through, for at long last the obvious was spoken aloud, confirmed though it didn't need to be. "I am going to destroy Camelot, beginning with your master, Prince Arthur Pendragon - who, as I'm sure you will have figured out, is the one my Farwolaeth was meant to bring to me."

"Then that makes you the most ordinary sorcerer of all," Merlin told him, lifting his eyes to meet those of Arawn's all the way across the glade. "Your 'master plan'? Exacting revenge for whatever reason on the king who lashed out twenty years ago? It's the usual. It's nothing more than typical. Although in fairness to you, it's not that much less, either."

Arawn blinked like he hardly knew the meaning of anything Merlin had just said. Then he stormed back to where Merlin was still chained helplessly to the tree behind him, unable to shrink back if he wanted to. Arawn pulled a blade from his belt, a hooked dagger that very clearly had rusted at some point.

Merlin bit back a yell as the tip plunged into his shoulder. It seared on contact, and he felt sure this would mean another infection unless the Farwolaeth intervened. Another swipe of the blade, and a thin, shallow cut appeared on his right cheek. Shallow or not, though, it stung something fierce.

But Merlin wasn't done yet.

"And you know what that makes me?" he carried on through gritted teeth. Arawn did not deserve the pleasure of hearing his pain. "Do you know what that makes the only sorcerer who hasn't tried to attack the royal family for his own benefit, no matter how he feels toward them?" He paused for dramatic effect, shooting his captor a smirk. _"One-of-a-kind."_

He expected Arawn to strike again, knowing the satisfaction would be worth any wound, but the not-sorcerer seemed to have channeled his self-control. He only threw the knife furiously into the dirt - too far from Merlin's reach for even a spark of hope - and stalked away, pausing just before he disappeared into the trees.

"You'd best watch your tongue, little sorcerer," he bit out. Merlin heard the venom in his voice, so powerful he thought it must have penetrated his veins. "Especially around those with the means to cut it out."

"Where are you going?" Merlin called, not expecting a reply, but still without turning around, Arawn gave one to him.

"To deliver a message. I feel certain the prince will want to know that his manservant is in my grasp, ready to tell me all the secrets he's learned of Camelot in his time of service unless he comes to me personally."

"I don't know any of Camelot's secrets," lied Merlin.

Arawn finally cast one quick glance over his shoulder. "The prince doesn't need to know that," he said, and vanished into the darkness of the forest, leaving a dumbstruck warlock staring after him.

He'd tried. He'd done the only thing he could think of to get Arawn to admit defeat. Now the man believed Arthur thought so little of him that a story of Merlin's potential treason would sound plausible to the prince. He was almost positive Arthur wouldn't believe it for a second, but he would, on the other hand, most likely come to his rescue when he learned of his whereabouts from Arawn's message.

In fact, Merlin wasn't sure what was worse: the thought of Arthur rushing to his doom to rescue him, or the thought that Arthur might not care enough to come at all. The former made him panic - the prince simply _couldn't _risk his life like that, not for him, not for anyone. But the latter put a dull ache in his heart that no Farwolaeth could cure.

And as if the creature had read his mind, his throbbing cheek and shoulder were suddenly pain-free. He raised a hand to feel where the facial gash had been, and instead his fingers met with perfectly smooth skin. He thanked it silently, even though he knew he would likely receive further injury in future. Maybe the Farwolaeth was only half bad, after all.

* * *

_Trees on all sides, so much green it was overwhelming. The flash of a blade, followed by a stream of scarlet. A blinding light obscuring Merlin's writhing body._

_A scarred arm, ending in the tip of a glinting dagger. A blue tunic, shredded and blood-stained._

"_You know what I think you are, boy? A liar…"_

Morgana's hand flew to her mouth as she sat bolt upright, stifling a scream, lest Morgause discover her in a state once again. She was quivering worse than a leaf in a storm, and sweat pressed a few stray hairs to her forehead.

The candle on her nightstand was aflame - a bad sign, because it hadn't been lit when she fell asleep, and she was supposed to be learning control. At least she had not done any damaging magic, or Morgause would ask what happened to her room, and she'd have to explain. She didn't need her sister to pry into what this dream meant for their goal. Besides, now Morgana knew for certain that she was not he cause of Merlin's suffering.

"_You know what I think you are, boy? A liar…" _Whoever had said that - or would say it in the future, she supposed - had a deep voice. A masculine voice. And the arm with the dagger could never belong to a woman, much less herself.

She pondered what this new variation to her nightmares meant. What was no longer there? The only thing missing from the original was Merlin's proclamation about someone's servants, which still didn't make any sense. She wondered if this meant he had said it by now. She wished she could dream of the past as well, a follow-up on her nightmares giving context to the little bits and pieces she saw - a hindsight to her incomplete foresight.

This new bit of speech was much more open-ended than the last. Morgana's head spun with questions. Was he definitely talking _to _Merlin? What had been the lie? Worst of all, what was he going to do about it? She tried hard not to think of the dagger poised at the ready in the scarred man's hand. She was almost sure he'd been the one making the accusation; if not him, then an accomplice. Whoever it was had not sounded friendly.

She was at a complete loss at what to do. Morgause fully expected her to do things like this to Merlin without batting an eye. She at least knew she couldn't do that, but she was still figuring out where she stood on the idea of someone else torturing someone she'd called a friend for a long time. It made her wince to think about it, but a part of her she'd resolutely ignored for two months now whispered, _He tortured _you_._

Which was false, strictly speaking. She couldn't say struggling to breathe was pleasant, but it had been quick and fairly easy to recover from. Nothing she'd seen in her visions looked quick, and she knew from years of watching knights return from battle that knife wounds took time to heal.

It was a case of not knowing what to do, how to do it, or whether she should do it all, and even if she knew the answers to all those, how could she betray Morgause?

There was only one easy way out the situation, and that was to carry on like she didn't know anything; to do nothing. It was similar to torturing him herself, but in a way she could live with. In fact, it was what she'd done the first time she ran away from Camelot. Merlin had been the one begging her to come back, or else all the prisoners would die.

She hadn't thought about it then, but killing them herself would have produced the same results. She'd been prepared to do it then; why was this any different? Because she could put a face and a name to her indirect victim?

If she'd never seen anything, all of this would have come to pass anyway. She wouldn't have done anything _then_. What was the difference now? The knowledge didn't automatically make her responsible.

It was the bracelet, the one she'd left out in the grass, the one that had failed her when she needed it most. Why did it have to let this, of all visions, through?

"_Perhaps my bracelet did not work because you were _destined _to see this."_

She pushed the echoes of Morgause's voice out of her tired mind, slid back down onto her pillow, and closed her eyes, willing a peaceful sleep to take her away from her troubled thoughts.


	8. The Letter

All right, here's proof that I still remember how to write 3000+ word chapters. Whether or not that's a good thing is up to you. ;) Thanks go out to all my wonderful reviewers! I appreciate every comment. As per usual, unedited, if you see an error let me know, etc. Without further ado, here's chapter eight. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

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Chapter Eight: The Letter

Nothing could prevent the castle from bustling with activity; it was in a castle's nature to be busy, unless it was merely a ruin. Sometimes, though, it _felt _quieter, like its inhabitants weren't sure it was appropriate to make too much noise. This usually happened when there was a threat, or when something bad had happened to someone who everyone knew.

By now it was common knowledge that the boy with the red scarf, the cheery and kind but somewhat strange servant boy, the boy who lived with Gaius the physician, was dead. Most people were aware that the cause of his death was the same creature that had evidently attacked and slaughtered four others before the prince and his manservant rode out to silence it, only to have it silence one of them instead. Quite a few people, but not quite as many, knew that Uther wasn't going to do anything more about the beast now, since it was rumored to have crossed into Mercia.

Gaius was the recipient of several pitying looks. A young maid named Caiwin seemed near tears herself when she told him how sorry she was that Merlin was dead. "He taught me how to sew," she'd told him sadly, anxiously fiddling with her hair. "I tore my lady's dress and he mended it for me before she even noticed… He must have had work to do for the prince, but he didn't even seem to care about that, or if he did he helped me anyway."

No, Gaius thought wryly, Merlin probably _hadn't _cared that Arthur had a list of chores for him to do on that day - on any given day. It was comical how eager he was to help anyone who wasn't Arthur. Or Gaius, for that matter. Of course, Gaius realized that all the fussing was good-natured, except perhaps for the occasional task Arthur forced him to do. But then, Gaius also suspected that Arthur concocted these ridiculous tasks good-naturedly as well. It was always a strange relationship that the two boys had.

He still expected Merlin to walk in, grumbling about how much of a prat Arthur was, and how, destiny or not, he was going to push him under a wild horse's hooves someday. Death threats ran high between the prince and the servant, which was something Gaius found both amusing and concerning; Uther wouldn't have taken it well if he'd heard Merlin make one of his many oaths.

Not that it mattered now.

Even now, when all he wanted to do was return to his chambers with the basket of freshly-picked herbs in his hand and continue searching for the creature Arthur described, the Lady Percival intercepted him. The sweep of her long sky-blue dress was somehow as dignified as the chin she held high. Lady Percival was not known to interact with those of lower stations, but Gaius was often an exception to this rule among nobles. He supposed it came with being the court physician.

"What can I do for you?" he offered, standing up straight and trying not to betray a hint of annoyance. This was the third time he'd been stopped on the relatively short journey to his chambers.

If she noticed anything, she ignored it. And as it was not likely that a lady such as Percival would ignore such a thing, he was inclined to think he must have hid it well. "Your loss is regrettable," she said formally, staring down her nose to look him in the eyes. "The boy seemed to amuse many of the other ladies. I… did not ever have a direct encounter, other than when he delivered your medicines, but I'm sure he was a delightful servant."

Not just 'he was delightful,' because there had to be boundaries between stations, naturally. And Gaius took her wording to mean that while she'd never seen much of Merlin, she doubted very much that he could be as amusing as the other ladies said.

Nonetheless, she had taken the time to tell him this (his own impatience aside), so he replied simply, "Thank you," and gave her a slight bow. She nodded curtly and carried on her way, never sparing him a second glance.

He made around a grand total of two more corners before yet another sudden appearance deterred his progress. This time it was a young servant boy whose face could use a washing. He approached Gaius apprehensively, yet at the same time like he was in a rush to say whatever was on his mind. Gaius's patience, already worn so thin, snapped.

"Yes, thank you for your sympathy. However, I really must be getting on, or I'm afraid I won't reach my chambers by the end of the year."

The boy looked terrified. "S-sorry, sir, but the king sent me."

Gaius, who had made to stalk past, stopped and turned round. "Oh? Did he perhaps give you a message to pass on, then?"

"Only that he wanted you in his chambers right away," the boy replied, chewing his lip nervously. "I-I can take that for you, sir." He held out a hand to take the basket of herbs. Gaius raised his eyebrows and allowed him to take it.

"Set it on my workbench," Gaius instructed, delighted to have his burden relieved, and the boy scampered off.

The nature of the king's request was mysterious, but not so unwelcome now that he had no real purpose to return to his chambers anyway. He only hoped, as he changed direction and made for the king's chambers rather than his own, that no one decided to intercept this journey as well. The king would not be pleased if he was forced to wait too long.

The corridors were mercifully empty, except for the occasional servant bustling by, encumbered by their masters' clothing, armor, or weapons. None of them held heaps of material quite so towering as Merlin used to.

Gaius pushed this thought firmly away as he knocked on Uther's door. There was a curt "Come in," and he obeyed.

"Gaius," Uther greeted, almost as one would casually greet a friend, but Gaius could tell the difference; years of service to the king had taught him. "I'd hoped you wouldn't delay. Thank you for not disappointing me."

"Of course, sire," replied Gaius lightly. God forbid the man should have to wait for one of his subjects to return his every beck and call. His irritation faded slightly when he saw the serious expression on the king's face. True, his expression was _always _serious, but Gaius knew that look. Something genuinely troubled him.

The king gestured to his fist. Clutched in Uther's hand was something small and white; a piece of parchment, Gaius guessed, and he was proven correct. "I found this in my window last night," explained Uther, holding up something that could only be a letter. Gaius took it from him for closer examination.

It was a tightly bound scroll, and on the outside were the words "TO BE READ BY PRINCE ARTHUR ONLY." The unbroken seal suggested that Uther had respected the privacy between his son and the anonymous sender. Then again, he guessed that was mainly due to the uncertain nature of its arrival.

The specificity of the address set off alarm bells in Gaius's head. He could think of no good reason why any letter should be directed so privately to the prince. Yes, there were matters that the general public oughtn't know about, but then why _just_ Arthur and not the king himself?

And also, whoever sent the letter couldn't have known the castle too well if they placed it in the wrong room. Anyone who lived in the castle itself had at the very least a good idea where Arthur's chambers were, and they weren't even in the same wing as Uther's. This made him believe that the sender must have been a relative stranger.

"Well?" prompted the impatient king.

"I don't know, sire," replied Gaius, this being the most honest answer he could think to give. "I can't think what information this letter might contain." In truth, his mind was concocting ideas that involved the witch Morgause and her old plot to reveal the nature of Arthur's birth. "Perhaps if I may keep it, I will discover something on closer inspection."

This would pry him away from his time with his book on magical creatures, but it was necessary to put the king's mind at rest.

Uther nodded curtly. "Be sure to let me know if you find anything," he ordered, and beneath the formal tone, Gaius thought he detected a hint of concern. Whatever else the king did, felt, or said, it couldn't be denied that he held much for his son.

"I will, my lord," he assured him, bowing slightly and sweeping from the room.

Several corridors and a couple of staircases later and he was in his own chambers, studying the letter once more in spite of the basket of herbs waiting for him on the workbench. This time he turned the scroll over in his hands, searching for any clue as to who might have sent it. The only distinguishing mark on it was a small rune that looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. It was, however, certainly a symbol from the Old Religion.

The sender was a sorcerer.

Fortunately, along with his books on magical creatures, he also had a selection of volumes that contained knowledge of magical symbols. What was more, he had an idea where to look for this, though he dreaded to see confirmation of what he suspected was true.

He flipped through an enormous tome that had grown dusty in all the years in which no one touched it. Each page blew a small cloud into his face when he turned it, but that did not slow the rapid flipping. Some of the ink was faded, but still readable if he squinted.

At last, he came across the rune from the letter. He almost missed it, because a yellow splotch obscured nearly half of it, but what was visible matched perfectly. It was as Gaius feared; the rune, a signature the sorcerer hadn't anticipated someone would recognize, was a symbol of ill will.

It translated to _death._

Whoever sent this was no friend of Arthur's, nor someone who wished to be. A determination wrapped itself like a blanket around Gaius's heart. One son had died already. He could do nothing but seek answers concerning Merlin; for Arthur, he could prevent anything from happening before it was too late.

He didn't need to see the letter's contents to know that Arthur should not be allowed to read it. Perhaps it even contained a curse that would activate upon unfurling the scroll. In that case, he decided it should not be in Arthur's presence, even.

Gaius dropped the letter on one of the many shelves and picked up again the book-marked volume on mythical beasts. He was one-third of the way through, as busy as he'd been with children taking ill and knights sustaining injuries in practice. Since venturing into the forest, Prince Arthur's blows were becoming noticeably more forceful. Gaius hated to think how much work he'd have if this sudden streak of violence continued. He hoped the intensity would decrease when the shock wore off.

Only a few days since Merlin's death, and even less since he'd known about it, and already he was allowing himself to look forward to a time when it would hurt less. He knew it was necessary, but it felt wrong leaving his nephew's memories to fade to the dust while everyone else's lives progressed. Merlin was supposed to know how it felt to grow old. He was meant to someday learn what it was like to reflect on the old days, and entertain himself with memories of his youth. He, of all people, should've had the chance to look back on his youth and chuckle about what an idiot he'd been.

Instead, he wasn't getting any older, and people like Gaius, like Arthur, like Gwen, were left to do all the reflecting. And all of them knew they had to let go eventually. Gaius could only wonder how Arthur felt. Could he tell his entire destiny had just been ripped in half, with one of those halves thrown carelessly away?

With Merlin gone, it seemed the task of protecting Arthur fell largely to him. He had no delusions that he would live long enough to see Arthur become king - Uther had many years left in him, provided nothing ended his life prematurely - but he could make sure Arthur was guarded for as long as he was around.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that even though he wasn't asked, Merlin had always protected Uther when the situation called for it, too. So much he'd done, and no one even realized it. Now that he was gone, perhaps Uther _would _die young.

He shook these thoughts away by lighting a candle and using the extra glow it cast to continue browsing his book, looking for the one thing that might finally bring him some peace.

The scroll lay in dust, blending in with so many other meaningless scraps of parchment, unopened with the address staring at the ceiling.

* * *

So far, it was not a good day.

Morgana's nightmares had woken her a second time, although at least the sun had risen by then. A headache accompanied this rude start to her morning, and now, hours later, it still persisted. She was sure Morgause could cure her if she asked, but she did not want to bother her sister over something so petty.

There were to be no lessons that afternoon. Morgause seemed anxious that she might become over-exhausted if they practice magic so frequently. Morgana wished had not voiced her troubles the day before; it made her feel weak, the way Morgause looked at her.

So instead of the lessons, they used a ready-built stock of herbs from the forest to brew a collection of potions and medicines. It did not escape Morgana's notice that many of the concoctions were in fact remedies for poison. Several of these remedies were ones that worked effectively against hemlock.

It calmed an anxiety she hadn't realized she possessed to know that they were prepared for another poisoning scenario.

"You're awfully quiet," remarked Morgause as she lackadaisically stirred a mixture - a cure for headaches, ironically enough. "That seems to be the case the majority of the time these days. I wish you weren't so hesitant to confide in me."

These pangs of guilt were becoming horribly familiar. "I'm sorry, Morgause," she said sincerely, though remorse did not loosen her tongue. "I'm just tired, that's all."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could somehow force them back in. Though her sister didn't say anything, the flash of concern in her eyes made Morgana's stomach churn. Of course Morgause would automatically assume her nightmares were to blame. This was partially true, but mostly she was just tired of being uncertain.

Once they'd bottled and stored the headache draught (oh, how Morgana wished she could have taken a sip), they proceeded to make a sleeping draft. Those never worked when it came to nightmares, but then, she supposed other things _did _keep her awake sometimes. Mindlessly she passed the glass container filled three-quarters with tiny poppy seeds to Morgause, who took a pinch and cast it into the basin.

"_Færbryne_," ordered Morgause, and the basin was suddenly radiating heat, encasing the bowl until its contents boiled.

"Shouldn't I have done that?" Morgana pointed out lightly, watching the mixture bubble precariously close to the top. "For practice?"

Morgause added a sprig of mint, presumably for taste. "I hardly think you need any more practice conjuring simple flames," she said dismissively, handing Morgana a wooden spoon to stir with. "Perhaps you've yet to fully master fire manipulation, but it's the area that should concern you least."

Feeling slightly uplifted by the praise, Morgana did not mind the work quite so much. It was almost fun, watching plants become medicine, occasionally aided by a small measure of magic. But only occasionally. For the most part, the work was nature's own.

As if reading her mind, Morgause said softly, "Odd, isn't it, how some of these things would kill you in their original form? Yet take only parts of them, mix them with other ingredients, and they ease pain and bring comfort."

Morgana knew the feeling. Alone, and with so many different parts to her, she tended to hurt people. Among others, with only one part of her present and active, she could do good. She used to feel that way around Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen, at least. What remedy did she create when added to Morgause? What good did they accomplish together?

"Sometimes two harmless things together can cause harm, though," she replied, gazing into the spiraling mess that was supposed to calm a queasy stomach. Not even she was entirely sure if she was referring to the herbs or not. "Or something is harmless until it's tainted by some other foul substance."

Morgause looked up from her work and tilted her head to the side. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she said. "But that's not what we're trying to accomplish today. Unless you're really so eager to have a few poisons on hand; I wouldn't deny the request if it might bring you comfort."

"No." How could _poison _bring anyone comfort? It only suffocated, dried out the throat, turned blood to boiling point, made the heart race and fogged the brain-

"Good," said Morgause, resuming her task of chopping a thick, curled root into small cubes that were more easily dissolved. "I hardly think it would be wise to have a vial of hemlock in our possession, or any poison for that matter."

Morgana stopped stirring and let the ladle fall against the basin's inner lid. "Why would it be unwise?" she demanded, indignant. "Do you fear that I'm foolish enough to drink hemlock on accident?"

"Of course not," said Morgause soothingly, reaching out to touch Morgana's shoulder. Morgana twitched her torso away, brow furrowed, so her sister went on. "I only meant the sight of it might encourage bad memories for you. For me, as well. I don't want to think about the way you looked after what that _boy _did to you."

The mixture began to emit a foul stench, similar to burning flesh, if not as strong. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you felt this way," Morgana apologized stiffly. Then she added, "And he _has _a name."

"What of it?" snorted Morgause, unrepentant. "Christened or not, he is the bane of my existence, almost as much as Uther Pendragon himself. He would prevent us from achieving our goal; he thwarted our efforts once, and for what? To save his own hide for a short while longer? He used you as a price to pay for his own miserable existence-"

"He didn't," snapped Morgana, feeling her color begin to rise with her temper. "You've never met him except when you've tried to bring the kingdom down! Merlin doesn't even know how to put himself before others, he would never do something like this for his own benefit! If he poisoned me, it was for the good of Cam-"

"_If _he poisoned you? My dear sister, do you hear yourself? There is no question of whether or not he delivered the poison that almost killed you! He betrayed you, and does that sound like the act of a friend? I accept that it was my fault you were put in this position in the first place, and I should never have done something like that without your knowledge, and furthermore, without your permission, but that _servant _should not have been able to put it together. What's more, he couldn't have known that I would arrive in time to bargain for you life, which means he was perfectly prepared to watch you die-"

"_I know!" _Morgana burst out, unable to listen to another word. Her chest heaved, her eyes flickered golden like they often did at night, and the basin's contents erupted in flames, black clouds of smoke billowing to hit the ceiling. Morgause quickly hissed a dampening spell, and the fire was put out before it could inflict damage.

"It's all right," she said unnecessarily. "The cure was already burning." She inspected her sister's face and furious body language uncertainly. "Morgana…"

"I know," Morgana repeated, still trembling in voice and body. "I - don't you think I've thought about that? Every night I remember the way he convinced me to drink, and I _try _to recall any suggestion that he hesitated. He looked so miserable after I drank it, but he wouldn't stop asking me to…" She shivered involuntarily. "In the hall, one of the knights was standing over me… he stopped, but he wouldn't turn back. He was going to leave me there to die, but the knight recognized me and let me go."

This time she allowed Morgause to rest a hand on her shoulder, and didn't even protest when she rubbed it soothingly. "You shouldn't have had to endure that from a friend," she whispered, and that was when Morgana realized there were tears pricking her eyes. All the bottled confusion and hurt she'd bottled since waking up, since denying that Merlin could have meant any harm, was coming out now, and it felt so _good, _if just a little wrong. "From anyone."

"I know," she whispered for the last time, letting her head bow so Morgause wouldn't see how she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Morgause took her other shoulder and waited till her sister's head slowly rose back up to face her. "This is why you've been dreaming," she told her, that earnest expression back in place. "You know what he did to you. I can see now why you've seemed reluctant to hurt him all this time, but you _must_ teach him that betrayal is punished in turn. He deserves the pain you felt. Even if you don't kill him, make him think that you're going to, and you'll only have repaid him evenly for that day in the castle. If you won't do it to avenge yourself, do it to avenge me."

Images flashed in Morgana's head; not a new vision, just reflections of the old one. The man with the dagger, the blinding light, the blood, the voice…

It wasn't her, she knew. The nightmares told her that much. She would not be the hand that dealt the blow, the voice that threatened, the light whose purpose she couldn't even guess. The pleading in Morgause's tone would not change any of these things.

But none of it meant she couldn't be there. None of them said she would do _nothing._ Who knew? Maybe she had a part to play, maybe she didn't. Either way, she had to find out.

"Just a little more training," she said, so quiet even she had trouble hearing it. "And then… I'll go."


	9. The Farwolaeth

Hello! Not to say they've been particularly quick thus far, but updates may slow down now, as school starts in two days. Alternatively, I have a study hall and a half, and I never pay attention in science or history, so I may get a lot written during classes. :) It could go either way. As for this particular update, I know it isn't the best and things are going _slow_, but if I promise that stuff is going to happen very very soon, will y'all be happy?

As always, thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! I'm truly shocked to have come this far already, and I'm glad you've followed along the way! I'd estimate that this story could be anywhere from 15 to 20 chapters long, and I'd be happy to see everyone at the end of that. :) I apologize for any typos (which I'd be delighted if you'd point out, so I can fix them). I typed up most of this on Write or Die, so it was quite hectic, and I know Word caught a gazillion typos by itself. Other than that... enjoy!

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Chapter Nine: The Farwolaeth

Two days. Two uneventful, tense days that felt like weeks, with Arawn's eyes never leaving him for longer than a few minutes. There was no privacy to speak of, and everything he needed was at his captor's mercy. At first he stubbornly refused the food Arawn provided, but then his stomach began to ache beyond what he could bear.

Merlin's stomach wasn't the only thing that suffered; his back felt so stiff and sore, he doubted he could stand normally anymore. There were patterns etched deep in his skin where the tree's rough bark and knots dug into it. He was sure there were bruises, but he couldn't twist enough to check.

"Your prince hasn't got much time left, does he?" said Arawn, tossing another log on the fire, over which hung the meat of a rabbit fetched by the Farwolaeth. "Odd he's not shown his face yet. Unless the Pendragons are really so arrogant that they'd ignore such a threat to the kingdom." He chuckled to himself and used his dagger to resume skinning a second rabbit.

"Maybe he doesn't believe your lie." Maybe he's at least smart enough not to come. _Oh God, don't play the hero, Arthur. _"He probably doesn't think I'm clever enough to a be a traitor. And he's not _my _prince, so stop saying that."

Arawn rotated the cooking meat. "Oh? Where are you from, little sorcerer?"

Merlin's jaw clenched; he'd heard those two maddening words many times over the last couple days. "A village called Ealdor," he replied, an image of his mother coming to mind. Had anyone told Hunith he was missing? He hoped not; she already worried about him so much, it wasn't fair to think that she was sitting at home waiting to hear if he was okay.

"I may have been through it once," said Arawn thoughtfully, stoking the fire with a long stick. One log slipped out of place, and he quickly smothered it with his boot. "That is but a small detail, however. Wherever you come from, Arthur Pendragon is your prince now."

Merlin considered the truth in these words. He always referred to trips to Ealdor as "going home," but what about right now? Right now he wanted to go home, but it was the castle he meant. He missed Hunith, he wanted Camelot. Camelot, with Gaius, Arthur, Gwen. When did all that change?

"Yeah, I suppose he is."

He'd been forced to talk to Arawn a fair amount - it wasn't like either of them had much else to do instead - but neither had actually said much. Beyond what Arawn had shown him about his birth, there had been no discussion about their pasts. Merlin was happy to avoid this subject for himself, since it only brought up painful memories, but he was curious about this magical not-sorcerer. Mainly, he wanted to understand what it was like, growing up alongside the Farwolaeth.

Then again, after Will found out and before Hunith realized he knew, Will asked every day how he could've grown up with magic inside him, unable to tell anyone. He'd only been able to say that he didn't know any other way of living.

Still, he felt the situations were entirely different. Hiding magic was one thing; hiding a visible, enormous, dangerous beast simply didn't sound doable. Unless of course he _hadn't _hidden it, instead letting the Farwolaeth take care of any disagreement that arose.

"Are you worried, little sorcerer?" Arawn asked after he'd drawn out the silence.

"What about?"

"That your prince won't come. His motivations aside, he's theoretically your only chance to escape - if he stood a chance himself, that is. In fact, I may even let you go once his head is severed nicely from his body. But that's only if he turns up; perhaps he truly is arrogant enough to ignore the situation. So I will ask again: are you worried?"

Merlin turned his head a little; even the small movement ached. "Are you?"

"Now, what would I have to be nervous about?"

"That you'll fail."

If Gaius were there, he would've whacked Merlin over the head and asked if he knew how to keep his witticisms to himself. Merlin likely would have said no. Even without Gaius next to him, he imagined a slight throbbing in his head from the blow.

Arawn's expression darkened, which Merlin was growing accustomed to, and even a little bored of. Then it evened out again, a perfect mask to accompany his silky voice. "Oh, do not fear, little sorcerer. I shall not fail. It is not within my nature to fail, whereas you - you are not significant enough to win or to lose."

That was a fair assumption for him to make. He'd never known Merlin beyond the convenient piece of bait he was now. He knew nothing of his destiny, the extent of his powers, or even that he was friends with the future king. He must have _looked_ insignificant.

"Fine with me," he replied. "I'd rather be the master of the game than a piece in play."

"Yet you are not the master."

"I know. But more importantly, neither are you."

He didn't know for sure what he was saying, only that it served to intensify the livid look on Arawn's face. His own expression was perfectly innocent, something he'd mastered in Arthur's service. Arawn continued to glower, but he paid no mind. He met his eyes unflinchingly, trying his best to look the part of an insignificant sorcerer-manservant.

"I am as close to a master as this game will ever get. I am the only piece with any sort of power still left in play. The rest are merely pawns, and easily disposed of."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not so easy to dispose of," taunted Merlin; however much his words made Arawn want to strike him, he wouldn't. It was true Arthur wouldn't know the difference until it was too late, but Merlin suspected Arawn wanted him to see the plan succeed.

Arawn's jaw tightened, and Merlin wondered if he had misjudged the status quo after all. The not-sorcerer began to draw his dagger, thought better of it, and let it slip back into his belt. The snow-white scars that traveled up his forearms stood out ominously against otherwise sun-darkened skin.

"I shall silence your insolent tongue in good time," he decided aloud, probably only in the hopes of frightening his prisoner. It didn't work; Merlin had already reached his capacity for fear. "Meanwhile..."

He took the rabbit off the fire and laid it on his blanket, careful not to let it touch dirt. Then he strode over, pulled a hand back, and slapped Merlin hard across the face.

It wasn't as if Merlin hadn't been slapped before. Gaius made a point of cuffing him round the head when he behaved particularly idiotically, and Arthur had done while magically enthralled with the lady Vivian, but never had a truly cruel hand dealt a truly fierce blow. It hurt almost as much as the slice on his cheek had; he glanced at the Farwolaeth, hoping half-heartedly that it might stop the pain again, but it was almost hidden in the trees. Its thick, scaly tail was the only part Merlin saw.

The initial sting ebbed away, and now Merlin felt like the left half of his face was caved in, even though he knew it wouldn't look like much other than a red splotch. He tensed his body the way he normally did when preparing to a cast a spell, except he didn't feel his magic surging outwards to his aid. Instead he stared coldly at Arawn, mimicking the man's favorite expression: none.

"There will be more to come, little sorcerer. The prince _will _arrive, and when he does, I shall destroy you both. You have nothing to work in your favor, not even your petty magic tricks."

Merlin's gaze hardened to a glare, which Arawn didn't return, because he was so much better at schooling his expression. The worst part was recognizing the truth in his words. Merlin thought Arawn severely underestimated the prince, but in the end, there was still no way to win this fight - especially as there was no real fight being fought.

He wanted to tell Arawn how cowardly it was to kill his opponents without facing them. He wanted to say that even a hunter's prey was allowed to keep their natural defenses. He wanted to reiterate the idea that this trap didn't make Arawn special.

But it wouldn't have changed anything, and the dull throb of his cheek stayed his tongue.

* * *

There hadn't been an execution in months.

Gaius was almost suspicious that Uther was doing this merely because the stake had grown cold and the ax blade dull. There turned out to be substantial evidence in favor of the woman's sorcery, but all the same... she did nothing wrong.

"Please!" The girl's sobs echoed in the courtyard as she twisted in her binds, likely unable to see through the curtain of tears. "Please, I haven't done anything!" She trembled viciously. Gaius suspected she'd be on her knees without the ropes to hold her up. A baby rested peacefully in the arms of a second woman at the head of the crowd. This woman cried in silence, eyes never leaving her sister on the stake.

The baby wouldn't remember how his mother died. Gaius hoped no one ever told him in future.

From the balcony, Uther addressed those gathered to view the sorceress, filling his words with deliberate contempt. The wind carried a gentle scent of smoke from the torches that two guards carried solemnly to the hay. The woman - Uther said her name was Carlotta - shrunk against the pole at her back, as if she could escape her fate this way. Gaius knew what it was like. Nothing made sense, only the overwhelming need to get away, to pretend it was avoidable, to let yourself believe it would be okay, and then the moment when you admitted it wouldn't-

At a wave from the king, the guards lowered their torches.

The woman burned.

Even back in his own chambers, Gaius couldn't escape the stench of burning flesh. It was the most powerful, disgusting smell in the entire world, with no words to describe it with justice. Uther evidently found a small measure of joy in the nauseating aroma. Did he not hear their screams when he lay awake at night? Were they a rousing symphony, and not the haunting melody that plagued the rest of Camelot?

The book in his hand felt heavier than usual. In the four hundred pages he'd scoured, only two creatures vaguely resembled Arthur's descriptions, and the prince barely glanced at each picture before dismissing both. With only one hundred and fifty pages left, Gaius was growing anxious.

A knock on the door prolonged any further reading; he welcomed inside the young woman he'd seen at the execution, Carlotta's sister Delilah. The girl shook visibly, looking ill with her skin turned ashen and her straw-colored hair limp and unkempt.

"I don't know what to do, Gaius," she said without preamble as soon as the door was closed. "I can't take care of Erik, and oh _God, _how could she have behaved so foolishly!"

Delilah burst into tears where she stood, and Gaius felt utterly lost. He put an arm around her waist, dropped the book on his workbench, and guided her cautiously to a chair. She sat and buried her head in her arms. "Carlotta would want you to be strong, for her and for her son. Where is Erik now?"

"With Ephraim," sobbed Delilah, though it was difficult to discern through all that muffled her speech. Gaius guessed Ephraim was the father, though they'd never met. Delilah was the only one he'd encountered directly.

The girl lifted her head slightly and sniffed. "I knew we shouldn't have come to Camelot, but Carlotta insisted," she said thickly. "If I'd know she was a-" She broke off, raising a terrified face, as though she didn't even want to say the word. Gaius handed her a tonic from his store cupboards. She didn't bother to ask what it was before draining the contents. Immediately, her muscles relaxed and the sobs decreased.

"You'd best return to your family," Gaius told her gently. She nodded in a way that suggested she didn't know what she was agreeing to. Gaius helped her descend the staircase. He waited until she disappeared to pick up the book again, and his heart nearly stopped when he did.

The book had fallen open to a random page near the back, one he hadn't reached yet in his browsing. It featured artwork of a large, prominently scaled beast, jaws parted in a vicious snarl that made Gaius sick just to look at it. He figured it had to be massive in size, perhaps not like the dragon, but for a forest-dwelling creature...

It was called a Farwolaeth, and without reading the rest of the biography, that in itself told him it was a creature of magic. In the Old Religion, 'farwolaeth' was one of the words for death. He leaned in closer to examine the words beneath the picture.

According to the book, the beast was not one conjured by the Old Religion, but born in it. It came to life if a certain enchantment was performed upon someone about to die. Timing was everything, for they had to pass through death's door within seconds of the enchantment, but they had to survive long enough for the entire thing to be spoken.

It fed off of magical energy, and this more than anything made Gaius's heart sink, because surely that made Merlin the perfect victim. It could mortally wound him, devour the energy within, and then finish him off. Most interestingly, though, was that it could _heal _itself. That made it virtually indestructible.

He hastened to find Arthur, tucking the book under one arm to avoid questions. A servant told him he was in the courtyard, training his knights. In other words, it was a bad time to interrupt the prince's day, but Gaius thought Arthur would understand in this case.

He arrived on the grass slightly out of breath - he was old, there was no denying that, and he'd been in perhaps too much of a hurry. He waited patiently while Arthur and Sir Tristan whirled in an almost graceful sparring match, parrying and dealing blows with an agility Gaius wished he still possessed. Arthur got the better of him in the end, and his gaze fell upon Gaius, who held up the book and beckoned him closer.

Arthur, too, was breathing heavily, but he was at the physician's side within moments, taking the book into his own hands and peering closely at the picture, skimming over the words. He blinked slowly. "This is it," he said, no enthusiasm in his voice, only a mild surprise. "I... I thought maybe it wouldn't be here. I don't know why, it just... it felt better that way, not knowing."

Gaius knew what he meant, that he could avoid the truth if it wasn't sitting plainly in front of him, but he [needed] that sense of closure. Only it wasn't there. He didn't feel like a great weight had left his shoulders, or that he could now carry on in peace. Merlin was still gone. The creature that had killed him hadn't changed, except to have a name and face to it now.

A sharp cry behind them made both men turn around to see Sir Bedivere hovering over a moaning Sir Cadwin, who clutched his shoulder like his life depended on it. Blood leaked through his chain mail and rolled down his side.

Arthur rushed to help him to his feet, ignoring Bedivere's stammered apologies. "Come on, Gaius and I will take you up to the physician's chambers so he can clean you up." He heaved Cadwin upright, supported him while he tottered dizzily, and slowly led him across the courtyard. Gaius walked briskly ahead, a list of what he needed to prepare running through his mind. He needed to clean the wound, stop the blood flow, give him something for infection, bandage it well...

In other words, the Farwolaeth was pushed aside to make way for more pressing matters.


	10. The Discovery

I am sooo sorry for the wait; school has actually been helping my muse a lot, and I've had most of this sitting in a notebook for a while, but I just typed two thousand words of this tonight. It's not a particularly long update, but hopefully the content makes up for it. :) And chapter eleven is almost complete.

Milestones: 100 reviews! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who contributed to that! I've looked at them each individually, not just as a number, and I couldn't be happier to read what people have said! And this is my tenth chapter, which is making me all emotional.

So. I think we all know what happens tomorrow (or today, technically, for some). Couple of points to hit on; one, the BBC's previews have made it clearly that this story couldn't possibly fit into Season 3 canon, which I'm totally okay with, since I always assumed as much. I just want to assure readers that nothing in the season will influence future chapters in any way. Which brings me to point two, which is that I live in America with only local channels, so my viewing of every episode will be delayed. _Please _don't mention any spoilers in reviews! I'll be looking everywhere online tomorrow to try and find a place to watch it. I would not be averse to a link if anyone finds it before I do! ;D

And I'll end this epically long author's note by saying: enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Discovery

"There you are," said Gaius, allowing Sir Cadwin to regain ownership of his freshly bandaged arm. "Be sure not to strain it over the next few days. No training exercises," he added with a meaningful look at Arthur. The prince nodded once, and Cadwin left, looking put out.

"I can try my best to stop him, but there's no guarantee he'll listen," Arthur pointed out. "He's as obedient as any other knight, but still headstrong and eager to prove he's invincible. He'll learn."

Gaius snorted. "If he tries to wield a sword with that arm, he'll learn quickly." Arthur winced, remembering a time before he understood that some pains shouldn't be ignored purely for the sake of ignoring them. On the battlefield, a knight had to grit his teeth and bear whatever injuries he suffered. Practice, on the other hand, could be put off.

That wasn't to say he _never _foolishly ignored Gaius's warnings, but he liked to pretend those instances didn't happen.

"This... Farwolaeth," Arthur began after a pause, stumbling over the pronunciation of such an unfamiliar word. "Have you heard of it before? Do you know of a way to kill it?"

"Neither, I'm afraid. The book says they are rare, and as for killing it, it would be impossible to do without knowing how to prevent it from accessing its healing powers. Magic may be necessary to do so."

Arthur frowned; it always came down to that, didn't it? Magic, dangerous and wrong and illegal as it was, tended to be the only solution to stopping creatures like this. So Gaius said, anyway, but Lancelot had defeated the griffin, and he himself had destroyed afancs and dragons, and his father had killed a wraith. All were things Gaius promised wouldn't be harmed by conventional means, but all had died by them in the end.

No doubt this Farwolaeth _thing _was the same. He'd have liked to see any creature live through swift decapitation, healing powers or not.

"I hope you're not planning anything," Gaius warned suddenly, realizing why Arthur might have asked such a question. "Your father doesn't want you putting yourself in unnecessary danger, and nor do I. You can't revive him by slaying his killer. Any more than I could revive him by learning what that killer was," he added, catching Arthur's indignant expression.

"He wouldn't act this way if someone _he _cared about had been the one to die," Arthur pointed out hotly. "It's not worth it for a servant, but if someone like Morgana-"

He broke off abruptly, as if he only just realized what he was saying. His mouth clamped shut, and he tried to ignore Gaius's pitying face. Where had that come from? He tried to avoid the awkward topic known as Morgana. Mentioning her in front of Uther was a bad mistake, so he quit mentioning her altogether. What knights and guards they could spare were out looking for her constantly, and he had joined them once or twice, but he was needed at the castle, especially to provide morale after the dragon attack.

"It must be difficult for you, losing two friends so close together," Gaius acknowledged gently.

"I'm not the only one. You've known Morgana for longer than I have, and Merlin... he was your nephew. You've more right to be upset than I do."

Gaius gazed at him sadly. "You've got more reason to be upset than even you know, or ever will know, perhaps." Arthur blinked, unsure how to respond to this. Enigmatic statements did not sit will with the prince.

The old man sat down at his work desk and began shuffling through countless vials, some full, some not. Arthur couldn't find any other excuse to linger in the physician's chambers, so he bade goodbye and moved for the door.

He was halfway through it when the sight of his own name caught his attention.

Curious, because Gaius had no reason to have a scroll with his name on it, Arthur moved to get a closer look. Shadows hid the first few words, so he took the small scroll from shelf and into the light.

In large, crafty black letters, it said quite plainly, "TO BE READ BY PRINCE ARTHUR PENDRAGON ONLY." There was no seal to suggest who might have sent it; a plain beige string of rope tied it shut. There was one small marking, so unintelligible he thought it must have been an accident.

And this letter, addressed clearly and directly to him, was mysteriously in the possession of the court physician.

"Gaius?" The old man looked up from the assortment of bottles and squinted to see what he was holding. "What is this?" He brought it nearer.

The physician's eyes lit with recognition and grew wide almost simultaneously. He shot out of his chair, faster than Arthur thought he was capable of moving. Two vials rolled over the table's edge and made contact with the floor. One shattered. "That's not for you," he said desperately, trying to wrench it from Arthur's grasp, but the prince had been training his reflexes since birth and dodged out of the way with ease.

"Obviously it is," Arthur countered dryly, underlining the title with his finger. "Prince Arthur Pendragon._ Only_. What if this concerns an urgent matter?" He glared suspiciously. "You haven't read it, have you?"

"Of course I haven't," Gaius assured firmly. "But sire, you must understand, it is for your faster that I have kept it from you. I don't believe the sender is any friend to Camelot, and if it puts you in danger-"

"How long have you kept it from me?"

Gaius did not answer at first, and it took an irritated huff from Arthur to convince him to do so at all. "Three days," he admitted quietly.

"Three days?" Arthur repeated in a dangerous voice. "You've hidden this letter from me for _three days_, not knowing for certain that it doesn't contain valuable information? What if one of the outlying villages is in trouble? What if someone's seen Morgana?" He'd been angry before, and he'd directed that anger toward his subjects innumerable times, but rarely had Gaius been on the receiving end. Usually Gaius calmed him down.

"I told you, I fear this letter may be dangerous-"

"Well, there's no harm in opening it, is there?" Arthur said snidely, and untied the scroll before Gaius could stop him.

_Arthur Pendragon,_ it began.

_I apologize for the forwardness of my letter, but it is rather pointless to dabble in pleasantries when we both know this matter is, in fact, unpleasant._

_With that said, let us not delay in proceeding to the issue at hand. You, Arthur Pendragon, are going to come alone to the forest in the north, which as I'm sure you are well aware has been plagued by a vicious creature as of late. That creature belongs to me._

Arthur couldn't believe anyone could claim ownership over such a vicious beast. This man was clearly full of himself if he thought he could control it.

_Travel further north and slightly to the east, and within the forest you will find a glade. This is where I will be._

_If you are wondering why I expect you to simply give yourself up, wonder no more; your servant has gotten quite an earful of your private discussions with the king. He knows many secrets, and has agreed to pass them on... but there will be no need for that if you arrive here, alone, in three days' time, before sunset. Earlier, if you wish, but that is my deadline._

_Consider what's in it for you. You can kill the servant upon arrival, eliminating his threat to the kingdom. And if you're truly as arrogant as stories would suggest, perhaps you even have a chance to eliminate me. If you had not surmised as much, I am magical - though the words you would use do not apply to me. I am no mere sorcerer, and I beg you not to mistake me as such, for that would be the greatest offense._

_I expect to see you soon._

_Arawn_

The room was so deathly silent, they could've heard a feather drop in the courtyard. Arthur, barely breathing, holding the thin piece of parchment at arm's length and staring straight through it, not daring to believe its message. Gaius, blinking at the prince, waiting patiently to hear what a sorcerer had to say to Arthur.

When Arthur finally remember where he was and who was with him, he wordlessly handed the letter to Gaius. He felt mildly dizzy, and leaned on the shelf for support, the same shelf that had shielded this news from him for days.

He could tell when Gaius finished from the stunned look on his face. "He's alive," he murmured in shock, testing the words to see if they sounded truer out loud. "He - I can't believe I-" He wandered absently to a chair and lowered himself down, knocking over yet another vial. It was a wonder he had enough left to store his remedies.

Arthur experienced a whole rush of things he couldn't name. One thing he knew for sure, the man who wrote this letter was a liar. He _knew_ Merlin... didn't he? Hadn't Merlin drunk poison so he wouldn't have to, followed him into battles he didn't have to fight, traveled with him on quests where neither were guaranteed to return?

There was no way he would turn traitor after all that. There had to be more to this than what the letter said. If anything Merlin might have made a false promise in hopes that he would come to the rescue. That sounded far more likely.

"Gaius," he said suddenly, an awful realization dawning on him. "You said you've had this for three days now?"

"Yes, sire." It took a moment for the implications to sink in. "The letter... that's tonight!" He sprang into action, snatching the bottles still on the table and sorting through them hastily. "Here," he said, thrusting two tiny vials into the prince's hand. "One is to stop infection, the other will help with pain. It doesn't matter which you give him first."

"How do you know he's going to be injured?"

"You said yourself that the beast wounded him with its claws!"

"Oh." Arthur's brain felt muddled and dazed. Nothing made sense, except that her had to get to Merlin, and he had to get to Merlin _tonight_. Before sunset on this third day.

He dashed down the stairs and yelled for the nearest servant to bring him his sword and armor. It didn't need to be said that he wanted them quickly; his frantic command implied it.

He waited in Gaius's chambers, pacing back and forth and mentally strategizing. It was a fruitless activity, as he didn't know what to expect from Arawn the sorcerer-who-didn't-like-to-be-called-that, but it helped to calm his mind. Gaius watched him somberly.

"Sire, I beg you not to go alone," he implored after a few minutes of nothing but Arthur's pacing. "Take some knights with you. Do not head into danger with no means of getting back out of it."

The servant boy stuck his head in the door, arms laden with Arthur's sword and complete armor set, except for the breastplate. "I'm sorry, my lord, it was too much to carry all at once. I can go back and-"

"No, don't bother." He motioned for the boy to dress him, speaking overtop his head. "There's no time, Gaius. I can't search for another knight willing to go, and I definitely can't wait for one to get ready. I'll be cutting it close as it is."

"Sire," Gaius started to protest, but Arthur was already through the door and racing down the wooden steps before he could say more, scabbard swinging wildly at his side until he slowed enough to sheath his sword.

Everyone he passed stared in bewilderment. It was becoming a common occurrence to see the crown prince racing through the corridors, but as far as they knew, there was no urgent matter at hand. Once upon a time, he mightn't have hurried to the rescue of a servant, much less _Merlin_, but time and experiences had changed that. He'd humbled enough to learn that stations didn't define a person, going so far as to befriend a servant and fall in love with another.

The stable boy jogged beside him in the stalls, promising he could have Arthur's favorite horse ready in almost no time at all. Arthur _had _no time at all, no almost about it, and led the mare out of her stall with nothing but a beckoning hand and some encouragement. Bridle, stirrups, and reins the hand, the stable boy stood dismayed as the prince mounted the horse's bare charcoal back and jabbed her into motion.

Fierce wind whipped and whistled against his armor, through his hair, against his face the moment he exited the stables. His midnight steed would, with luck, soak up enough dying sunlight to guard it from chills. Arthur was fine, clad as he was in fine clothing and armor.

It hit him full blast that this was it, his one and only chance to reverse the awful circumstances of the last week and bring Merlin back to Camelot, alive and safe. If he succeeded, they lived in peace until the next inevitable adventure. If he failed, he'd have lost his friend forever.

His horse reared unexpectedly, and he had to cling to her mane for dear life. Someone stood in their way, cloak whipping wildly and leather-gloved hands on hips.

It was his father, looking like he knew very well what he was intercepting.


	11. The Departure

Okay, typed this all in a rush, and have to hurry now, so this AN is going to be rushed, too. Typos are likely, so don't be afraid to point them out so I can fix them when I get home! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and thanks to everyone who offered links for the first episode! I found it okay after a few hours of searching; this Saturday won't be quite as frantic, since I won't be home till a few hours after it premiers.

Like I said last chapter, school is good for the muse, so that's why the update is so quick. :) Quick for me, that is. I hope you enjoy! And let me know what you think! (It's so much more fun to write when there's stuff happening, so hopefully it's more fun to read!)

* * *

Chapter Eleven: The Departure

"Let go, father," snapped Arthur, for when the horse's front hooves connected with the earth, Uther had snatched them and held tight. Arthur tugged them from his grip, but his horse whinnied and refused to move forward. He kicked her sides angrily, and received nothing but a pang of guilt for his effort.

Uther stood resolutely in his way, brow furrowed so low it might have been comical at another time. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, taking in his son's armored figure and sword slung at his belt. "I told you, the beast is none of our concern now. It is Bayard's-"

"Forget the beast!" Arthur felt about to burst from a million conflicting emotions. Fury, panic, confusion, restlessness, and a wild sense of joy, because Merlin was _alive- _"I have to rescue him! He probably thinks I believed that stupid letter, that I've left him to-"

"Arthur, what is this madness? Who are you talking about?" Enlightenment dawned on the king's face. "Your manservant? But you told me he'd died."

The blood pounding in Arthur's ears started to slow; his rush of adrenaline was ebbing. He needed to go. _Now. _"He's alive, and he's being held captive. If I don't get there before sundown tonight, he _will _die. For all I know, the sorcerer's become impatient and killed him already."

Uther bristled. "Sorcerer? In our land?" Arthur nodded, shooting a fervent look to the horizon, where he knew the forest lay. "Then he must be destroyed. But not by you."

"There's no _time_. I have to rescue Merlin. He'd do the same for me - he _has _done the same - and before you say it's his duty as a servant to the crown prince, just remember that he's not even _from _Camelot. You're the one who forced him into this job, now _move _so I can make sure he's still alive to do it!"

He glared defiantly at the king, cheeks burning, daring his father to refuse his will.

* * *

The king was not blind. He had seen the change in Arthur's behavior since returning from the forest. Before now, he'd severely underestimated the relationship his son had with his manservant. He'd seen them, in small instances, display familiarity inappropriate to their stations, but it seemed the boy was the only one his son associated with anymore. Well, him and another servant, Morgana's former maid.

In the last week, six knights had gone to Gaius with minor injuries during Arthur's suddenly brutal training sessions. The few times he'd seen Arthur with his new servant, the two barely uttered a word, and then it was only orders and "Yes, sire," or "Of course, sire," or "Already done, my lord."

It was proper, this formal exchange, but it clearly made his son unhappy, more so than almost any other incident Uther could recall. For whatever reason - maybe the unfailing loyalty the peasant boy often displayed - Arthur had come to view him, Merlin, as a friend.

Uther almost remembered how it felt, befriending peasants. Gaius, for instance. And...

He pushed the second name out of his mind. She had been a foolish choice in companion. No doubt Arthur was wise enough to avoid making friends with a sorcerer. Uther hoped he'd at least taught the prince that much.

"This boy," said Uther, reaching a decision. "Is he good at his job?"

Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's not-" he protested, then stopped. His eyes trained on the ground, where a little flower with yellow petals stood straight; in a way, it resembled the same flower two years ago that saved Merlin's life.

He looked back up at his father. "Yeah," he said with surprising conviction. "The best."

Uther noticed something suspiciously wet in Arthur's eyes, but decided not to mention it. The prince blinked hard, and it was gone.

"Promise me you won't get hurt." It came out like a command, but both men knew it was more like a plea. "Promise me you will return safely."

Arthur nodded, nudging his horse, which was starting to fall asleep. It jerked back to life and snorted, pawing the ground impatiently. "I will, Father," he swore quietly. "Thank you." He tugged the horse's mane, and she obediently set off at a trot that grew to a gallop. For a moment, light slivered through the clouds overhead.

The prince of Camelot, bright sun glaring off expertly polished armor, rode off to an uncertain fate, willing to risk everything for a mere servant, whom he found it in his heart to feel fond of.

It was worthy of a bard's tale, Uther thought, climbing the steps to return to the castle alone. And it was in his best interests for this tale to end well.

The sun hid itself once again, and the world was cast into shade.

* * *

For the first time in over two months, she was alone.

The dark hood cloaked her in what seemed like night but wasn't quite yet; standing still, it was like she didn't exist. The bracelet was on her wrist once more. She'd retrieved it on her journey as through the grass. It felt heavier, now that she'd grown used to a wrist free of burden. It was symbolic, though. Her dreams could trouble her no more.

No light filtered through the trees, yet her pale skin gleamed at times, the only times she might have been detectable.

Instinct alone guided her to her destination. The only direction she knew was forward; backward did not exist when neither she nor Morgause could stand to leave this matter be. She wouldn't sleep again until she saw him.

She moved slowly, an unusual thing for her. Normally she hurried in circumstances similar to this, but she needed time to gather her thoughts, control her emotions, decide where she stood.

She couldn't know for sure what state Merlin was in by now. Since she last dreamt, he might have suffered every trauma from her visions. She could've missed out on everything already. It would solve her problems, true, but she'd have no sense of closure. And that was the point, was it not?

The enchantment stretched farther into the forest than she'd originally thought. If she concentrated on feeling the magic around her, there was a mild vibration that made her ears ring. It was fainter than near the tower, but it was there, the magic that protected creatures of the Old Religion from prying eyes.

Her senses told her it wasn't far now. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear him...

The trees gave way suddenly to a clearing, and she had to duck quickly behind an enormous tree, hand flying to her mouth to cover a gasp. It was the man, the one from her nightmare; his scars were visible even from a distance. He was speaking, and the voice sounded hauntingly familiar.

"...be too late. Perhaps he cares more for his own life than for the safety of his kingdom."

Morgana risked a peek into the glade. There was Merlin, hands bound tightly to a tree, looking a great deal less comfortable than the other man, who crouched on a blanket. He looked relatively unharmed - there was blood on his tunic, but it was long since dried - if a bit scrawnier than his already too-skinny self.

"That's not true," Merlin defended hotly. "He would rather die than put Camelot in danger - I've seen him try!"

"Oh?" The second man arched an eyebrow high enough to rival Gaius's. "But only for the sake of the nobles, I presume? After all, I seem to recall that he... what was it? 'Treats his sevants like dirt.'"

Morgana's blood ran cold, and something told her Merlin felt similarly. Maybe it was the way his eyes widened and his skin lost color. He shifted uneasily, and Morgana stepped back to make sure he wouldn't see her. Now, though, she couldn't see him, either.

"Whatever his motives, he still defends his kingdom," said Merlin; it was only because Morgana was so adept at lying that she recognized the mask over his voice. It was _too _even, too careful to be real. She tensed, waiting for the other man to call him a liar, but it didn't come.

"The prince should count himself lucky, to have a servant who respects him despite his faults," he scorned. "Perhaps he knows of your respect, and that is why he has not ridden to thwart your treachery. Perhaps he truly does not believe you would betray him."

"I told you before, he wouldn't think I'm that clever," muttered Merlin, low enough that Morgana struggled to hear him. He made it seem like they'd had this conversation several times before.

But... Arthur was supposed to be there? And _wasn't_? The Arthur she knew would have been to the forest in seconds if he knew one of his friends was being held there, no matter what the circumstances. With her prodding, he had risked his life for Merlin's before they even knew each other well; without any prodding at all, he'd saved Gwen from Hengist. Why was he abandoning Merlin now?

She heard the striking of stones, and a faint glow sprang to life that she could see even with the tree in the way. It faded away quickly and the darkening clearing flickered with shadows. "The air is almost too damp for fire," commented the scarred man. Every word he said sounded ominous, no matter how simple or innocent. "The wind will carry it away if we are not careful."

"Better be careful, then," Merlin replied flatly. Morgana was impressed with the way he spoke so directly with a man who would, if he hadn't already, torture him. She didn't know if she could that in his situation. She wouldn't act calm, certainly. More like hateful and cutting.

Something rustled in the trees, and Morgana's eyes flicked upward. Across the clearing, she saw... a monster. She gulped down the gasp of horror. It stared straight back at her, disinterested, and looked away. She shuddered; its yellow eyes pulsed like venom, an analogy she didn't like to use.

It fixed its gaze instead upon Merlin, who apparently remained oblivious to this fact.

"It is rather dark already," the man observed, glancing upwards, where the sun could no longer be seen over the towering tree tops. "It seems Prince Arthur is unaware of your overwhelming faith. No matter; the two of you need no longer live in dislike. Tell me, little sorcerer. How do you wish to die?"

Morgana's breath hitched. _What _did he just say? Little _what_, exactly? He had to be playing some sort of mind game, but Merlin didn't so much as blink. It didn't make _sense_. Yet, it did. Perfectly.

He had been so sure she was partly the cause of the spell over Camelot. Morgause had spent hours contemplating how he knew; but he was a _sorcerer_. That in itself provided part of an explanation. And speaking of explanations, some of things he used to say...

And now she knew that he hadn't just poisoned her. Worse than that, he'd _lied_. He promised to keep her secret as though it was the only one that existed. All those nights, alone and scared and helpless... he'd _known_. And he'd left her that way.

She missed whatever Merlin said in response. The man was smiling tightly, so she could guess that nature the comment had been. She glared steadfastly at the boy's defiant smirk. Did he ever feel guilty that he hadn't tried to talk to her? Did he _care_ how much of a relief it would have been to know that someone else truly understood her predicament?

For all her visions, she never could have foreseen _this_.

The man fiddled with a dagger, one that she'd seen just nights ago in a dream. It was more difficult to feel sympathetic, suddenly.

She heard more rustling, and for one heart-stopping second thought it was the giant monster coming towards her, but it stood exactly where she'd seen it last. Morgana was confused until into the glade burst an armed Arthur Pendragon. His eyes roamed the entire clearing, darkening the longer he looked, skimming right over the man with scarred arms and the boy with his face set in defeat. Arthur's shoulders slumped, like something was missing.

Why did he act like he couldn't see anything?

Then it struck her. The enchantment - everyone in that clearing was magical. He _couldn't _see them.


	12. The Light

I am sooo sorry. I can't even believe it's been two weeks, September flew away from me! I struggled an unreasonable amount with this chapter. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

Not much longer to go till I have to say goodbye to this story. I'm going to let y'all in on a secret: I've sort of started a couple of other Merlin WIPs. I'm not sure if I'll post either of them, but when I make a decision, I'll mention something on my profile!

As usual, many thanks to all the brilliant reviewers out there, and let me know if you see inconsistencies/mistakes/typos. They're bound to happen, my mind wanders while I type.

Aaand onward.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: The Light

Arthur saw nothing. Or as good as, anyway; there was a blanket and a fire pit that even had a fire going, but he was too late. That was the only explanation. This was the right place, with signs that someone had just been there, but sunset had reached them before he did.

Growling, he threw his sword down and soon followed bodily, a dull pain coursing up his spine when his bottom hit the ground. This was it. He'd done the impossible in convincing Uther, only to run out of time.

It was the strangest thing, though. He could've _sworn _this was the same glade he and his knights had come across before. He could hear that damn vibration pulsing in his ears, dulled as it was by the icy shock gripping his insides. The fire pit had been there as well. That had all been after Merlin was taken - and it had been empty then, too. Was this some cruel joke? Or even a trap, more so than it'd been in the first place? A trap within a trap. How quaint.

He could chase the Arawn assuming the sorcerer - or whatever he wanted to call himself - hadn't used magic to whisk himself three kingdoms over. It wouldn't save Merlin, but it might make him feel marginally better, knowing the murderer was dead.

With some difficulty, considering the heavy armor, he forced himself to his feet. With a shock he realized his cheeks were in critical danger of getting wet. He inhaled deeply and rubbed his whole face, pretending his eyes weren't the reason for doing so. It was stupid, he knew, holding it back in the one opportunity when nobody was watching him. But if he lost control now, he didn't know how long it would take to get it back.

He had to get back to his horse, get back to Camelot, and let Gaius know that he'd failed. Gwen... with luck, Gaius hadn't mentioned there was still hope. He hated to think of her expectant face falling when she realized he was alone.

When he reached the trees, however, the vibration cut off, and only then did he realize how... not loud, but _consuming _it was. Instinctively, he turned around. And let his mouth fall open.

Near the fire pit stood a tall, menacing man, scarred arms crossed unpleasantly and expression mostly blank. And on the other side of the clearing, Merlin, hands chained to a thick tree trunk, shirt torn and crusted with more blood than Arthur considered healthy. Both were staring at him. Neither, he was quite sure, had been there thirty seconds ago. _How_...?

He croaked the question aloud, feeling his knees go weak; luckily, his armor kept them locked in place. "H-how?" No one answered. He suddenly wished the vibration would return, just to fill the silence.

Then the man, Arawn, laughed.

"That is a fair question, indeed. Perhaps you were struck with temporary selective blindness. But now, the prince and his manservant are reunited. How will you fare in a fight, Prince Arthur? All because of a useless boy who came along at the wrong time."

"Leave, Arthur." Arthur's gaze locked on Merlin. There was something commanding in his voice, something Arthur hadn't heard from him before. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to listen to it. He swooped down, snatched his sword, and twirled it once with his arm, both to warm up and to frighten Arawn. The latter seemingly failed.

"I'm not leaving these woods without you," said Arthur firmly. "Not this time."

Arawn frowned and glanced at the imprisoned boy, who shrunk inward slightly. "You know what I think you are, boy?" Merlin shrugged and tried to communicate something to the prince with his eyes, but whatever it was remained a mystery to Arthur. "A liar."

This made no sense, since Arthur didn't remember saying anything you could classify as true _or _false, but he kept his mouth shut.

Arawn wasn't finished. "I suppose it does not matter now," he said thoughtfully. For whatever his reasons, the prince is in my grasp. Come to think of it, it is more touching to know you both care."

He raised the dagger, swifter than a striking snake, and struck Merlin in the shoulder.

Arthur was between them in an instant, flinching at the pained cry and trying to induce a similar one from Arawn. He drove a fatal wound straight through the sorcerer's stomach, shocked as he did so that it could really end so easily.

It didn't. The moment he withdrew his blade, the wound healed over, shrinking until it disappeared completely. Arawn's blank expression did not waver once. Arthur stumbled backward, uncharacteristically caught off guard. He tightened his grip on the hilt and wiped his blade in the grass.

"My Farwolaeth will always heal its master," Arawn stated serenely. "You see, Prince Arthur, it is simply not within the realm of possibility for you to prevail. Not when I have so many advantages, and you... you have a sword."

That shouldn't have sounded so demeaning, but it did. Having a sword _always _made Arthur feel advantageous, but just now, he might as well have held a broom in his hand for all the threat it would pose to this man.

For once, he wished half-heartedly that he had magic on his side.

He raised the blade again in a desperate swing. Logic dictated that no dagger should have withstood the blow, but when Arawn raised it in defense, his sword glanced off the tiny weapon like they were equals.

Metal clashed against metal. Arthur was dimly aware of Merlin, now behind him, struggling with his bonds. Arawn drew him forcefully back into the fight with a slash to his forearm. It slit through the chain-mail and a thin layer of skin; shallow, but Arthur still had to grit his teeth.

Injuries, unless they were severe, were not enough to hinder a knight of Camelot. He drove his enemy back, hacking with less precision than normal, depending on pure strength rather than accuracy to make the blows worthwhile. None landed, all parried effortlessly by that damn thing that didn't even deserve the title of "weapon."

All the same, tides quickly turned in his favor. He dealt a gash to the sorcerer's elbow, which seemed to hesitate for a moment before it returned to unmarked skin. Well, relatively unmarked; one of the man's many scars ran through the spot where the gash had been moments ago.

He'd soon backed Arawn against the fire pit, which the sorcerer failed to realize until one foot met the stones holding the flames captive. A spark shot angrily out of the disturbed pit. He stopped, frowning at the knowledge that he'd allowed this to happen. Arthur knew this was it. If he advanced anymore, Arawn would have two choices: the blade or the fire.

Suddenly a large mass pushed itself between them, and the swipe of a tail sent the prince crashing against a tree near Merlin. He doubled over, all breath forced from his lungs. He watched, horrified, as Arawn raised the dagger again, aimed this time at the most helpless person in the glade. The firelight illuminated the scarlet-coated blade from behind... and then it came plunging down, a direct path to Merlin's heart.

* * *

Her heart-rate quickened painfully at the lost look on her brother's face. She still thought of him that way, she realized - her brother, the obnoxious prince. Except he no longer acted so obnoxious. Right now, for instance, he looked like he wanted to cry.

Merlin and the scarred man both stared at him, the former bewildered and the latter amused. Arthur fell to the ground, oblivious to them all, assuming he was alone and by extension too late. To see him so shattered brought back memories of when it was just the two of them in Camelot. Once upon a time it would've killed her to see him hurt.

But Merlin had _lied._

Which one of those things meant more to her?

Then Arthur was on his feet again, and Morgana saw with a shock that he really _was _crying, or as good as. Even in what he thought to be solitude he hid the emotion.

Arthur _never _cried. And that decided it.

Morgana closed her eyes and felt for the faint thrum of magic in the air. She followed it with her mind, tracing it back to the source - the tower. The enchantment resembled a beam spreading out from that single spot, little more than a hazy glow around the edges but strong and sturdy in the center.

She couldn't hope to eliminate it, but perhaps she could push it back a little.

She focused on those faint edges, forcing them to withdraw into the rest of the halo, condensing and growing stronger where it still remained, but receding all the same.

A bead of sweat grew on Morgana's brow; her limbs quaked and paled. She knew her energy was draining fast, but she was so very close to reaching the glade. Arthur was walking away, giving up, but by now the rim had passed him and crept toward Morgana - more importantly, toward Merlin.

In a burst of inspiration, she reeled the edge around herself, manipulating the circle to form a lump around her area and leave the rest of the glade free of the magic. Just when it became all too much, and she _had _to let go or she would lose control - Arthur turned around. And it hardly took a sorceress to see that _he _could see.

She'd done it. It left her gasping and panting and clutching a low branch for support, but it was over now. She'd done her part to save him. Just as, deep down, she'd always known she would.

Even though he'd _lied._

It didn't take long for a fight to break out. There was no exchange of banter such as during training, no pause between blows to assess the situation and catch a breath. In a fight of sword versus dagger, the outcome should've been obvious, but the other man had magic on his side - that was no ordinary knife, she was sure of it.

Sword and sinew proved greater than magical enhancement. Morgana had difficulty following much of the movements, but she could see plainly that Arthur had his opponent trapped, backed into a wall both figuratively and somewhat literally. Morgana's eyes flashed gold, and a spark leaped from the fire. Unfortunately, it missed the man's pant leg, which had been her intended target. It was similar to the spell Morgause had taught her; one contact with skin and it would erupt.

Despite that failed attempt, it was all but over. The sorcerer could not escape forward or backward without encountering his mortality's end first.

Then the beast on the other side of the clearing moved. Morgana did not understand its intentions until it pushed itself between the two fighters. She cried out as, in one swish of its mighty tail, the monster threw Arthur through the air like he was little more than a doll. There was a clear thud when his spine meant the broad trunk of a tree.

He wasn't unconscious, at least, but it took him a minute to recover. The scarred man shifted his attention to Merlin, who stopped his wriggling and became quite still when he saw the dagger raised in his captor's hand.

Several things became apparent to her at once. First, she'd seen this before, repeating in her dreams whenever she closed her eyes. There it was, the crimson blade held high, ready to bury itself in the no doubt frantically beating target. Dark trees towered on all sides, flickering with shadows from the fire.

Second, she'd never _seen _the blade come down. In both her visions, it had merely been held as it was now.

Third, her part in this was not complete.

The man's hand came down, the dagger with it. Merlin twisted, the act seeming completely involuntary. Arthur, finally on his feet once more, yelled something and tried to stop its descent, but it was too late for him to do anything. Once on its path, there was only a split second to act.

Which was plenty of time for Morgana.

Whether the blade reached its destination or not became unclear as a brilliant white light erupted around Merlin's torso, encasing his entire body and causing the immediate area around him to become a blind spot. The other three shielded their eyes; the scarred man, the closest to the light, screamed in agony and stumbled back. Arthur did the latter as well, and it was all Morgana could manage not to follow suit.

But the light grew and grew, which really she hadn't anticipated, and she wasn't sure what it meant. The spell shouldn't have been that strong, not when she wasn't so strong as a sorceress. Something unknown fed its power until the entire clearing was obscured, bathed in pure, impenetrable white.

Then the light wavered twice, dimmed, and blinked out.


	13. The Casualty

Okay. I was never _entirely _sure how exactly I'd wrap up that scene in the forest, and the last chapter's events happened slightly of their own accord. As a result, I get to drag this story on a bit further than before :P Not too much, just enough to tack on a chapter or two.

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but it's been almost a month (oh my God, I'm so sorry...), so I figured I needed to just get it done. Hopefully y'all haven't given up on me; I'd love to see everybody at the end of this thing! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: The Casualty

Merlin felt blindly in front of him. The mysterious light was gone, but he was pretty sure the same went for his eyesight, at least temporarily. "Arthur?" he called uncertainly, surprised to find his voice still worked. He hadn't yet adjusted to the fact that Arthur was _here_.

He put a hand to his chest, feeling where the light had initiated. He'd no idea what had caused it, only that it may well have saved his life.

"Merlin," said a voice, a painfully familiar voice he'd been convinced he'd never hear again. Spots still disrupted his vision, but nothing could prevent him from making out the hazy figure of Arthur Pendragon. "You were useless in that fight, you know. Absolutely _no help _whatsoever."

Even without seeing him, Merlin imagined the prince was smiling, and couldn't help but grin back. A laugh escaped his lips, the first in days.

"I'm serious!" Arthur insisted, but then he was laughing, too, uncertain and lacking in gumption, but laughing all the same. It kept coming, low and so strained that it sounded and even felt forced, but it was completely involuntary; it even began to hurt.

"You're still chained to that tree," he remarked when he finally managed to stop, as if Merlin himself wasn't aware. Apparently he could see better than Merlin, because with one confident chop of his sword, the boy was abruptly freed from his bindings. His hands, unused to supporting weight, fell limply at his sides. He imagined they were rubbed red and raw, but he dared not touch them; they throbbed enough as it was.

Wordlessly Arthur helped him to his feet, gripping his torso instead of his wrists. There stood an unspoken understanding between them, that whatever happened out here needn't be mentioned again in Camelot. For now, they were two friends relieved to be together again, rather than master and servant reuniting.

"Where's the sorcerer?" asked Arthur suddenly. Merlin looked around, his vision having for the most part been restored - not that that counted for much in the darkness. The fire had evidently blown out, likely due to the as yet unidentified light. Sure enough, Arawn was nowhere to be found. The Farwolaeth was just off the edge of the glade again, blinking peacefully with wrinkled, stony eyelids.

_Shouldn't it be that concerned that its master is gone? _Merlin wondered. It shared a kind of bond with Arawn not totally unlike what he shared with Arthur. If Arthur went missing with no explanation, he wouldn't simply sit down in contentment.

Although it was possible the Farwolaeth _knew_ where his master was.

When Merlin didn't answer his first question, Arthur asked another. "What was that _light_ thing?" he demanded, voicing the very confusion Merlin felt. It couldn't have been him, he was sure of it. He didn't have any more magic than Uther Pendragon himself right now.

Unless...

He turned away, under the pretense of examining his sore wrists, and using the softest tone possible whispered a few words in the old tongue. One of the slashes to his tunic started threading itself back together; he hastily halted its progress and cast a wary glance back at the Farwolaeth.

Its eyes were shut, and as he watched, it lowered itself lazily into the underbrush. _Weakened _was the only way to describe it. Horribly, horribly weakened, so much so that it hurt to see it. And Merlin, though his eyes were blue now rather than the smooth gold from a moment ago, had a good inkling why.

"I'm not sure," he mostly-lied, realizing Arthur was tapping his fingers on his arm impatiently. "Maybe... Arawn lost control."

Arthur scoffed, but didn't challenge the idea. "Right, then," he said, facing the Farwolaeth and unsheathing his sword. "Looks like there's only one thing left to resolve. You stay back, Merlin, I'm doing this on my own."

He twirled the blade, a signature move, and took off at a sprint - or would have, if Merlin arms hadn't yanked him to a halt at the last second. They both tumbled to the ground, and Merlin grunted, feeling his limbs stretch beyond normality. A pulled muscle that would for sure hurt in the morning. "Don't," he pleaded simply. "Don't... don't hurt it."

Arthur shoved him off, scrambled to his feet, and fixed him with an incredulous stare. "Merlin, is that your mental affliction acting up again? This thing almost _killed _you. Have you seen the state of your shirt? That red stuff is called _blood_, and most people need it in order to live. Losing a lot of it can have rather _negative _effects. Including disorientation, so perhaps I've answered my own question!"

"Half of it's from Arawn," he pointed out, then amended, "all right, not half. The Farwolaeth's claws did most of it. But don't you wonder how I'm still alive?" When Arthur didn't guess an answer, he supplied one. "It healed me, Arthur. I think... more than once. Arawn told it to the first time, and maybe the second, but it's more than that. I don't think it wanted us to..."

He doubted Arthur understood the vast majority of that. He was only speculating, anyway. But there was no disputing the fact that he _had _his magic now, and he owed it to the creature feebly resting in the trees. "Look at it," he continued lamely. "It had every chance to kill us before, and it didn't."

"It threw me into a tree! I think that qualif-"

"You were about to skewer its master, Arthur, it was only defense!"

They glared at each other until Arthur relaxed the sword in his white-knuckled grip. "If it means that much to you... but we can't just leave it here unguarded. Regardless of what it did or didn't do in the fight, it's killed innocent people. I can't let that go unpunished."

Merlin heaved a sigh. Arthur had a point, yes, a point that a tiny part of him agreed with. But the greater part of him whispered fiercely that he could very well be dead right now, and there was only one explanation as to why he was not.

"You couldn't kill it if you wanted to," he pointed out somewhat triumphantly. The thought had only just occurred to him. "It's got healing powers. Whatever you do to it, it'll just close the wound. Unless you've got your hands on an enchanted sword since I saw you last, you can't fight it."

Judging by his blank look, Arthur hadn't. "'_Enchanted sword_'? Merlin, _how _do you come up with these things?"

Merlin shrugged. He figured that was better than explaining about a certain sword currently resting at the bottom of a lake.

"Arthur, listen to me. You know those times when I tell you something's a bad idea, and you ignore me? And then I turn out to be right? This is one of those. I don't know where Arawn is, but... well, if he finds out you killed his pet, it'll be the unicorn all over again."

Arthur blanched, and Merlin was instantly washed over with a sense of guilt for bringing it up again. No one, least of all the prince, liked to think about that time. "The difference is, the unicorn never killed anyone. It was harmless. This _Farwolaeth _killed four people, and it tried to kill you and me. Who says there'll be a curse if I kill it? It's not some pure, sacred animal that will... _offend nature _if I kill it."

"That doesn't make it right," argued Merlin. They'd run into a stalemate on this issue, though Merlin could see no way for Arthur to win. "Listen. How many times do I have to use that word? If you attack it, weak or not, it'll have to attack you. It'll defend itself. And _you _haven't got healing powers!" His volume grew until he was almost shouting at the end, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. He couldn't remember the last time he's pushed an issue this far.

To his annoyance, Arthur's mouth twitched. "I had no idea you felt so strongly. And to think, all this time, you've only been _worried _about me. Well, I'm flattered, but you should have a little faith. What if I cut its head off? Could it heal that?"

"Is it worth testing? Come _on, _Arthur, it hasn't even moved this whole time we've been arguing, do you really think it's so violent? Maybe Arawn provoked it all along." He wondered if the Farwolaeth knew they were debating its fate right before its half-closed, glazed eyes.

Wait...

"Arthur," said Merlin quietly. The abrupt change of tone caught his master's attention. "I think it might already be dead."

Startled when he realized Merlin could be right, Arthur swiftly crossed the glade to check. Merlin followed, his suspicions confirmed when he saw that its scaly blanks neither rose nor fell.

They were reduced to silence. "Well," said Arthur. "I guess that solves it."

It did, if not quite in the way Merlin had anticipated. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was partly, if indirectly, responsible. He wished he could give it some proper burial, but the prince would likely not approve, and if he tried to do it quickly with magic, he ran the risk of getting caught.

"Come on, then," prompted Arthur, turning away from the body and shoving his servant forward gently. It was obvious _he _harbored no remorse. "Let's go. Gaius'll be wondering where we are. Or in your case, _if _we are."

"It's dark!" Merlin protested. "Gaius is probably too busy sleeping to care if or where we are. How d'you expect to find our way through those trees in the middle of the night?"

"I've been through these woods so many times in the last two weeks, I could sleepwalk out of here. Which might happen, because thanks to a certain someone, I haven't had much chance to rest recently."

"Oh, well now, sire, we can't have that," quipped Merlin with as much sarcasm as he could muster - which in his case was quite a lot. "Don't worry, when we get back to Camelot, I'll make sure you're nice and warm in your own bed. Never mind that _I've _been sleeping against a tree for at least a week, your comfort's my priority."

"I'm glad," Arthur replied smoothly. "Because yours certainly isn't mine. Now let's be off so we can both get our priorities sorted."

"Right. Just as soon as it gets light out." Arthur raised his eyebrows, and Merlin sighed. "Lead the way, sire."

And as he did, and Merlin resigned himself to follow, something rustled in the bushes. Arthur didn't seem to hear it, but Merlin's eyes fell on a figure half-hidden behind a large tree. Her dark hair was almost invisible in the darkness, but what little moonlight shone down from the sky illuminated her pale skin.

Heart flip-flopping, Merlin realized who it was.

Morgana froze when her eyes caught his. He wondered for a moment if she was about to kill him; it was the first time they'd seen each other since the poisoning, the first opportunity she'd had for revenge. Her eyes darkened, and he prepared to defend himself if necessary.

A soft brush flitted across his mind, not unlike how it felt when Mordred spoke through his thoughts. Morgana was trying to communicate with him, but she couldn't quite project words yet. Nonetheless, what he felt was enough.

She'd come here on purpose, and she had her reasons, but whatever those might be, they weren't friends. They weren't _going _to be friends.

Slowly, Morgana raised a lily-white finger to her lips. Merlin nodded once, and she turned and disappeared in the shadows.

"Merlin!" yelled Arthur from somewhere ahead. "If you've gotten lost already, I'm going to knock you over the head and _carry you _back to Camelot!"

"Coming!" he called back, and set off at a jog, owing to the annoyed shouts to be his guide.

* * *

She knew something was wrong when her sister stormed straight by her door, not even acknowledging Morgause's presence. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine why Morgana was behaving so furiously, and she made it her business to learn.

Outside the windows, there was nothing but midnight blue so deep it appeared black. Morgana had been gone hardly any time at all; most of it would have been spent traveling. She had expected to wait till dawn for her sister's return.

"You seem troubled, sister," she noted, hovering in Morgana's doorway, a phantom who needed an invitation to enter. "You've returned so soon. Have you done it? Is the boy dead?"

Morgana's posture was rigid as she sat, hands clasped in front of her and stormy green eyes glaring into space. "No," she spat, betraying the barest hint of fear with her anger. "He lives. Arthur came to his rescue, I imagine they're halfway to Camelot by now." She hadn't said it all, but she made no move to fill in the blanks.

"Then Arthur now knows you are his enemy?"

Her sister looked up slowly. "No. For all he knows, I am still merely Camelot's missing ward."

Morgause frowned. "How can that be?" she wondered aloud. And then she pieced it together: Morgana's vague words, her unwillingness to speak, her _fear _to tell the truth... "Morgana. From whom did Arthur rescue the boy?"

She knew she'd hit home when Morgana winced, but her sister was strong and regained composure quickly. "Not from me," she admitted coolly.

She was surprised, but not shocked. Disappointed, maybe a little angry, but not enraged. Confused, but not confounded. She remembered the feeling that Morgana didn't want this as much as she did. But she'd never expected... Then, maybe she should have.

"What part did you play, my sister?" Morgause hardly dared ask. "Did you simply stand by and watch another do the work you were destined for? And then did you stand by and watch your enemy escape?"

"Don't you see?" hissed Morgana fiercely, on her feet and drawn up to full height. She wasn't quite as tall as Morgause, so some of the effect was lost. "It was never my destiny to hurt him that way. All of the things I saw in my dreams happened just as I saw them, if not in the way I expected. We were wrong all along."

"You did not answer my question. While whoever it was torture the boy, _what were you doing_?"

"Helping," Morgana snapped, and when she failed to elaborate, Morgause's suspicions were confirmed. The unspoken question - nay, _demand _- hung in the room between them like a fog; _why?_

Morgause relaxed her muscles, unaware of how tense they'd become. She swiftly crossed the threshold, invitation be damned, and put a hand each on her sister's shoulders. It almost looked like a comforting gesture... but then her eyes glowed gold.

Morgana blanched beneath her grip, but Morgause's mind was already brushing against her own awareness. Visions of the fight flashed for both sisters to see: a man with scars and a dagger, the horrid boy helplessly confined in chains, the naïve prince backing the first man against a teepee of flames - and a white light, so absolute and over-powering that Morgause was thrown out of Morgana's mind quite unceremoniously.

"I never taught you that," she pointed out when she'd regained feeling for the world around her. "That light you conjured, where did you learn it?"

"You _did _teach me," objected Morgana. "Just yesterday, for our last practice. You told me fire is as good a distraction as it is a weapon. That made me think... what if it was _only _a distraction? I used what I knew of the Old Religion to change the spell. I - I'm not sure what it did, exactly. I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

The last part was said very quietly, a mere whisper. That uncertainty always drew the protective side from the older woman. Morgana was strong, but at times so very, very weak.

"Your reconstructed a spell?" Morgana nodded. "And its effect was _that _powerful?" She fell silent, lost in thought. What was it about fire that Morgana could manipulate so well? "That kind of magical energy is dangerous if you don't know your limits."

"I'm fine."

Perhaps physically, but she was an emotional wreck. It almost served her right, helping the enemy that she inexplicably didn't seem to hate. Almost. Even that did not seem near devastating enough to deserve pleasure in seeing her sister this way - or indeed, to _make _her this way. There was something deeper, something one simple talk would not pry out of Morgana. Something that she needed to ease out over time.

"Your powers must be stronger than we thought," remarked Morgause, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. Morgana's posture relaxed, and they both took a seat on her bed. Morgause scolded herself inwardly. She was meant to be the understanding family Morgana had never had, and here they were, on the verge of fighting. Again.

No matter how it had come about, it was unquestionably a mercy that Merlin was no longer their concern. That boy presented far more trouble than a mere servant should.


	14. The Unexpected

Again, I outdo myself for longest wait ever. I meant to keep up with fanfic through November despite NaNoWriMo, but I almost failed NaNo as it was... the time since then has mostly been laziness. But Chapter Fifteen (the final chapter, if I'm not mistaken, which is possible) is a few notebook pages in, if that's any consolation. I _will _not take over a month again on this, I promise you that much.

Hopefully the fact that this chapter was started in October and finished _today _won't hurt the consistency too much, but if it does, don't be afraid to say so! Reviews of any kind are love. :)

And quick shout-out to all my readers - you guys are the _best_! Over 150 reviews and 20k hits. I never even dreamed it. I love you all.

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Chapter Fourteen: The Unexpected

The barest hint of light peeked out over the horizon. Merlin, quite simply, was exhausted. Arthur must have been too, but the prince showed no signs. He rode confidently over the turf, while Merlin held loosely to his midsection and tried with incredible determination not to fall asleep.

"Almost there," he mumbled absently, resisting the urge to use Arthur's back for a pillow. The horse trotted through an unexpected dip in the ground, jolting him back to awareness.

The transition from grass to cobbled stone was most welcome. Both riders slid off the horse's back, one gracefully and the other not so. At least when Merlin stumbled a little, Arthur caught him and steadied his stance.

Sir Leon stood at the top of the marble steps, customary armor setting him apart from the swarm of tunic-clad citizens bustling about. The knight dipped his head at the prince and then, curiously, repeated the motion to Merlin. "The king informed me of your mission," he told Arthur, then addressed Merlin, "It's good to see you back."

Dazed, he could only nod. "Thanks."

Arthur took him by the crook of the elbow and led him inside. Leon accompanied them, then split paths as he headed to the throne room. "Shall I inform your father of your arrival?" he called back when they'd grown several meters apart.

"That would be greatly appreciated," acknowledged Arthur, marching off in the opposite direction. Merlin hastened to keep pace with him.

"Where are we going, then?"

"Straight to Gaius, naturally. We can't be too sure that the sorcerer didn't cause any lasting damage."

"Arawn," corrected Merlin automatically. Arthur shot him a strange look. "He didn't like being called a sorcerer. He thought himself above petty magic tricks." He wondered briefly whether Arawn would've considered a conjured ball of lightning flying toward him a "petty magic trick." Nimueh probably hadn't thought so. "And I don't think he did any real damage," he added as an afterthought.

"Right." Arthur eyed Merlin's tunic somewhat skeptically. The warlock looked down and considered the formerly blue material, now stained a miraculous shade of dark crimson in most places. He conveniently kept forgetting about that.

"It's not _lasting_," he insisted. "There's not even a wound anymore."

He and Arthur continued to squabble lightly, both cheered by the knowledge that they were alive to do so. Intent on compiling a stack of witty comebacks, he rounded the corner and knocked forcefully into someone rushing by with arms full of linen, which softened the blow but erupted everywhere.

"Oh, sorry," he blustered, bending down to help clean up his mess. "I really need to watch where I'm going, bad habit..." He trailed off, recognizing the person he'd run into. "Oh," he said brightly. "Hi Gwen."

Gwen looked as though she'd seen a ghost. "Merlin," she whispered, and abandoned the linen altogether as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Nice to see you, too," he said awkwardly, patting her on the back in hopes she'd let go or at least loosen her grip. No such luck. If anything, she squeezed tighter, trembling with what he assumed were sobs but failed to understand why. "Er, Gwen? You're hurting me," he told her finally. She let go as though shocked.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed; it was her turn to act flustered. "I just - Arthur said - why aren't you dead?" He frowned, bemused. She realized how that sounded and hurried to backtrack. "Not that you should be! I mean, I thought you - Arthur came back alone, he told us you'd died, so - _how_?"

Merlin grinned. "Eloquent as ever."

Arthur, behind them, cleared his throat. "I did say you were dead," he admitted. "What was I supposed to think? But I got a letter..."

And he relayed yesterday's events to an apparently only half-informed Merlin and an increasingly attentive Guinevere. She frowned, insisting he could have let her know before rushing off to save Merlin, but relented when he explained his reasons.

"It would only have taken longer to leave, and I was almost too late as it was. Besides, I didn't want to get your hopes up, in case..." He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. _In case I couldn't bring him back._

Gwen gave Merlin one last hug before Arthur more-or-less demanded they continue to Gaius's. Merlin prepared himself for another barrage of incredulity, but when he pushed open the door and cleared his throat, Gaius acted like he'd never been gone at all.

"Ah, I was expecting you sometime soon," he declared. A pleasant smell drifted from somewhere in the room. Arthur pushed Merlin into a sitting position on the physician's cot, ignoring the younger man's scowl. "For God's sake, Merlin, have you been wandering about the castle in that shirt?"

"Hardly anyone saw!" defended Merlin. In truth, the odd servant had given him a weird look, but no one who knew him particularly well had commented on it, with the exception of Gwen, who noticed the state of his tunic about halfway to Gaius's and demanded proof that he wasn't liable to bleed out before they reached their destination.

With the physician's help, he removed the offending tunic and permitted Gaius to examine his wounds. There were evidently still marks from the Farwolaeth's claws, though they were nearly closed. The wound in his shoulder had disappeared completely, which he'd guessed; it was the Farwolaeth's final gift, excluding the timely return of his magic.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the non-existent injury, but said nothing.

Gaius gently coated each laceration with some foul-smelling liquid and wrapped him in a thin layer of bandages. "It's just to prevent the salve from rubbing off," he explained.

After all that was done, Merlin donned another tunic - still blue, though darker and thankfully not stained. Abruptly following this, Gaius pushed a bowl of piping hot stew into his lap and commanded for him to eat it. "Eat it _all_," he added when the boy took one tentative sip. "I imagine Arawn failed to keep you properly nourished."

"You know everything, then?" observed Merlin, blowing on the bowl's steaming contents before taking another bite. The first had practically blistered his tongue, but he knew Gaius was serious when he said he had to eat it all. "Arthur told you before he left?"

"You could say that," said the physician enigmatically, giving the prince a meaningful look. Merlin started to ask what he meant, but was thwarted by his own yawn.

"What have you got to yawn about? I thought we agreed my rest was the priority," Arthur reminded him. Gwen puffed up indignantly until she saw his face and realized he'd been kidding.

To cover her gaffe, she put in, "You could _both _use a rest by the looks of you. It's a wonder you didn't fall asleep on the way here." Merlin decided never to tell her that he almost had. "Sire, I can go prepare your chambers if you-"

"That won't be necessary. I'll be staying here." Merlin almost choked on a carrot when he heard these words, and he looked up at Arthur with watering eyes. Arthur rolled his own and clapped him on the back, harder than Merlin thought the situation really called for. "Someone has to make sure this idiot atually sleeps rather than blunder into another reckless stunt. One _I'd _no doubt have to rescue him from."

That pulled a small smile from the maidservant's lips. Merlin, on the other hand, threw his spoon at him.

When he blinked awake several hours later, it was to find that Gaius was gone and Arthur wasn't. Strange. He didn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he recalled was Arthur returning from the kitchens with a jug of water, which for some reason Gaius insisted on pouring...

The warlock groaned. Of course. The physician considered it a day wasted if he didn't slip _something _into _someone's_ drink.

Arthur was snoring lightly on the chair by his bed - Gaius' bed, really. Judging by the sun, he guessed it was early in the afternoon. Normally the prince would threaten his life for sleeping half this late, but for once he could hardly complain. Merlin suspected _he _hadn't been drugged into his current state.

On Gaius' workbench, Merlin saw a book opened to a page portraying a familiar beast, at least as familiar as hand drawings compared to the real thing. Beneath it, in the language of the Old Religion, it named the beast _Farwolaeth_. Merlin smiled to himself; he should have known that if anyone could find something on the obscure creature, it would be Gaius.

Beside the book sat a tray, presumably Arthur's lunch. It must have been brought recently, for the drumsticks still retained enough heat to radiate steam. Partly out of sadism but mostly for the prince's and his own good, he shook Arthur awake and pointed out the food.

"Thank God, I'm starved," groaned Arthur, surprising his servant by getting to his feet, stretching, and fetching the tray himself. The miracles didn't end there. "No offense to Gaius' cooking, but I'm sure the palace kitchens have it beaten. Take a drumstick."

Merlin nearly choked for the second time that day. "Er. What?"

"Go on," said Arthur impatiently, like it hurt him to have to insist on being nice. "There's far too much for one person to eat on their own, and why waste it?"

The warlock stared at the tray. For one thing, he knew for a fact that Arthur had no problem throwing things out if he didn't want them. For another thing, there wasn't a huge difference between this and what the prince normally ate, _maybe _a littleextra to compensate for his recent absence. Definitely not so much that Arthur couldn't finish it off himself.

Then again, he _was _awfully hungry, so perhaps he shouldn't complain.

"All right, then," he said, and relieved the tray of one drumstick.

When Gaius came back and allowed them to leave - Arthur had resolutely refused to let Merlin anywhere without the physician's clearance - they spent the rest of the day on the practice field. Leon had taken over most of the knights' training, but now Arthur was back and eager to return to duties. Well, that duty, anyway.

Merlin watched from the sidelines, glad for a chance to laze in the sun for once. It was warm today, despite the autumnal season, which for him meant comfort and for the knights meant additional sweat. Arthur strained them to a hitherto unseen degree. Merlin suspected he rather enjoyed leaving his subjects with aching muscles and bruised limbs.

"Could've been a bit nicer with those swords," he commented when it was was over, feeling remarkably sorry for Sir Nathaniel, who'd been whacked round the head twice with the hilt of Arthur's sword. Helmeted, yes, but still.

"It's not my job to be _nice_," snorted Arthur. "My job is to keep them alive. No one they meet in battle is going to be _nice _about it. Come on, I'm roasting in this armor."

They reached the mercifully cool armory, and Merlin slid the chainmail over Arthur's head. The prince stretched, glad to be free of the heavy burden.

The chainmail could use polishing, Merlin noticed. It still had blood on the sleeve where Arawn had cut Arthur, and there were several other nicks in the metal. Strange, how Arthur hadn't once complained about it.

"I'm having dinner with my father tonight. I'll ask one of the servants there to tend to me for the evening."

"I'm not an invalid! I'm perfectly capable of getting a bath ready and fetching your nightclothes. Those aren't near as heavy as this damn armor, and you let me take care of that!"

"That's different," claimed Arthur in the superior tone that welcome no argument - the one that Merlin usually argued with anyway. Arthur must have realized that mistake, because he amended, "I didn't think about the armor. I _am _thinking about you dragging yourself to my chambers when there are dozens of servants who _haven't _been sliced open recently who can do it instead. And what I'm thinking is that one of them will do it, not you."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Really, with Gaius handling my drinks, it's not like I haven't had a rest today. I'm _fine. _Besides, you're supposed to be the one telling me to get to work no matter how many hours it's been since I've slept or eaten or sat down, remember?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "You know what, Merlin? For once, you might be right. Clearly I've become too soft on you. Tonight you're not only to ready my bath, you're also going to tidy my chambers, they've been woefully neglected since you... left. In a timely fashion, of course, because I won't be kept up all night thanks to your lazy work. Go on, _Mer_lin, what are you waiting for? Is that enough, or shall I find more for you to do?"

"No need, Sire," said Merlin quickly, all too aware that Arthur would name more chores if he challenged him about it. Arthur got that look on his face, the one that wasn't _quite _a smile but meant the same thing. He doubted, then, that he prince cared if any of that got done on time. Except perhaps the bath.

They parted ways, Arthur to join his father, Merlin to return to Gaius.

The physician's chambers were empty when he entered, but it was hardly a moment later when Gaius came bustling in, arms full of books with aged and damaged covers. He appeared to struggle under their weight, hoisting them up in an effort to make it more comfortable.

"Here, let me." Merlin took four large tomes from the stack, and together he and Gaius manhandled them to the workbench, where Merlin came close to smashing a vial with pale blue liquid. "What do you need these for?" he huffed.

The books all but tumbled out of Gaius' arms, as gracelessly as Merlin's had. "It has been brought to my attention that my knowledge of magical creatures is not as keen as I would have believed," said Gaius, a frown flitting across his face.

Merlin countered it with a grin. "You didn't do too bad, though." He nodded to the book, still open on the workbench. "You found it in that book of yours."

The serious look on his mentor's face did not lessen. If anything, it became wearier. "After days of searching, Merlin, and even when I discovered it in that book, I came no closer to knowing if you were alive or dead. These books are more current; they have more information. If something like this should happen again..." He trailed off, and with no more warning than a deep, meaningful look, he pulled his ward into a hug.

Caught by surprise, Merlin didn't return it at first, but then he found himself remembering how desperately he wished to see Gaius again while he was held captive by Arawn. He brought his arms up to pat the physician's back awkwardly, much the same as he had done to Gwen. However, this was less an action of disbelief and more one of immense, calming relief.

"Well," he said when the moment and the embrace were over. "I'd better go... polish some armor or something." Arthur hadn't told him to do that, but he knew it needed to get done, and he had time to kill. It was too early to start the bath, and there was no _way _he was really going to clean Arthur's chambers tonight. "After that I'd better go meet Arthur. I imagine he and the king will be done eating by then."

"Yes, I imagine so." Gaius took him briefly by the shoulders, smiled, and said, "I'm glad you're safe, Merlin. Promise me you'll stay that way."

"I'll do my best," promised the warlock.

Back in the armory, he polished both by hand and by magic. Which, in terms of progress, meant that by the time he had finished shining the helmet to perfection, the rest were already stacked neatly into place. He'd only done the helmet by hand to kill time, anyway, and by now he reckoned Arthur would be waiting for him.

They met outside the throne room. The prince's disheveled appearance suggested he hadn't been treated to same heartfelt "welcome back" as Merlin. "He congratulated me on my success," he said in response to his servant's questioning look. "And then he told me it wasn't my place to care about a commoner's life." Merlin waited for the inevitable denail that Arthur cared, but it didn't come. Arthur fell quiet, lost in thought.

They reached his chambers, and Merlin realized it was the first time they'd been there all day. He tried to imagine the state of the room waiting for him inside. Clothes strewn about, the bed made clumsily or not at all... Arthur made it sound like there had been no one called upon to do things like clean his room, even in the circumstances of Merlin's presumed death. The thought cheered his slightly.

He opened the door and, by force of habit, let Arthur in first. It wasn't the disaster he'd anticipated; it was't a disaster at all. Everything was pristine, picked up, and in its proper place. Merlin felt almost disappointed. Gods, was that _cinnamon _he detected in the air?

"Looks like you kept organized," he commented, inspecting the pillowcase on the four-poster bed. It looked spotless, though he knew there had been a stubborn stain on it last time he checked. He'd worked for ages to get rid of it, to no avail. And he had _magic_, for goodness' sake!

"Nice, isn't it?" said Arthur, sounding as impressed as Merlin was disgruntled. "I wonder who did it. Perhaps I should hire them instead."

"You like it, then?" drawled a lilting voice behind them. "I took the liberty of cleaning up. There was not much else to do, considering how painfully long it took your royal highness to arrive."

Beside him, Merlin heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath. He was jealous; _he _found it difficult to breathe at all, and felt rather as though he had been punched in the stomach.

He knew that voice, knew it from days upon days of hearing none that one.

"Whatever is the matter, little sorcerer? Farwolaeth got your tongue?"

Merlin revolved slowly on the spot to face the last person he ever wanted to see again, much less so soon. He addressed the man, conjuring up the calmest voice of which he knew himself capable.

"Hello, Arawn."


	15. The Resolution

Here it is, the last chapter of Fore and Hindsight! (Did I really just say that? Eep...) That said, I think I will be adding an epilogue. I have some ideas for one, I'm just not sure if I should write one of them or just leave it here. What do y'all think?

As always, if you see typos, I would _love _a heads up. I feel better when those silly little errors and caught and fixed. :P

A big _thank you _and an even bigger hug to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story! You're the reason I was inspired to make it the whole way through the story - something I've never truly accomplished with a fanfic. Who'd've thought the whim I had in class one day would have turned into something people actually read? And speaking of whims, some of you may know that I tend to write up one-shots every time I have a burst of inspiration. I also have several ideas for chaptered fics in the Merlinverse. My point is, you haven't seen the last of me, whether there's an epilogue or not (which I really think there will be).

Enough of my incessant ramblings, now! On with the show! I hope you enjoy the resolution :)

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Chapter Fifteen: The Resolution

They should not have been so quick to dismiss him, Merlin thought, feeling sick. In a moment of naivety, he and Arthur both had underestimated their foe, and perhaps overestimated the light. He wished he had heard the incantation so he could have translated it and possibly avoided this nasty surprise.

Arthur, by default the first to recover, armed himself with the spare sword kept against the wall near his bed. However, it left his fingers in the next instant, accompanied by a flash of dark gold.

"Not today, Arthur Pendragon," said Arawn calmly. "Today's quarrel is between the little sorcerer and myself."

Hoping to turn the attention off himself - for Arthur looked bemused rather than shock, and Merlin wanted to keep it that way - Merlin mocked, "I thought you were above such petty tricks."

"I am above such petty magicians," corrected Arawn. "However, it occurred to me some time ago that it would be foolish to remain ignorant of the tricks they perform. " With a flick of his wrist, a coil of rope piled in the corner - likely the same one they'd used for their ploy to escape and rescue Gwen, Merlin realized - sprang to life and snaked around Arthur's waist. The prince struggled against the bonds and shouted every profanity against Arawn, who remained unfazed. "You see? Even petty tricks have their uses."

Merlin's eyes flicked to Arthur's vehement face, then back to Arawn. What would that face morph into if he showed his true colors? He remember the dragon's wise words: _the half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. _But Arthur had no idea about halves or wholes or anything.

He would have to trust that that didn't matter, because he saw no other way out of this. Arthur's sword called tantalizingly from the ground, but Merlin didn't dare delude himself into thinking Arawn would engage him in simple swordplay.

_Don't hate me too much for this, Arthur, _he pleaded in his head. He considered saying it out loud, but by doing so he would only draw attention to what he had to do. Maybe, by some miracle, Arthur would miss it like he always did.

Arawn gave him no time to prepare. _"__Ástrícan bréostþing ond ábradwian__," _he spat in so great a rush Merlin struggled to understand him. That did nothing to affect his next move.

_"Gescildan!" _he breathed, and brought up a hand to enforce the transparent barrier that reared to his defense. He avoided Arthur at all costs, keeping his eyes fixed on Arawn. He fired off two spells in quick succession, which, instead of creating the two separate effects he wanted, melded together into one.

_"Méce __ástigian __ástellan_,_ ásendan mánbryne ræs!" _he ordered, and while Arthur's sword flung itself through the air to greet its target, flames erupted around the blade in frightening proportions.

Arawn didn't bat an eye. Rather, he used magic to flip the sword around at the last moment, and caught it by the hilt, the only part left free of enhancement. Well, Merlin _had _said "blade," specifically.

Instead of sending it straight back, Arawn directed the sword tip-first at Arthur. Merlin halted its advances mere inches from the prince's chest, opting to reduce it to dust rather than continue their back-and-forth game. His own heart clenched rather painfully; if he had been a second slower...

They exchanged a series of trivial spells, neither hitting their marks, and Merlin resorted to wordless, nameless magic that he trusted to do what he needed.

It was little more than a warm-up, and they both knew it. This was a test, designed to feel out the other's abilities and limits. Merlin had yet to even brush his, but the constant stream of energy was beginning to wear on him.

_"__Stíþmægen __mægencræft__ to wierp," _he commanded, and felt the swell of magic growing deep within his core. Spells like these made his eyes glow so bright he _felt _it, and gold obscured his vision. A pulse of pure power hit Arawn like a wave and sent him crashing against the far wall, pinned there until Merlin relinquished his hold. "Still think they're petty tricks?"

"That is nothing." Arawn clambered to his feet, windswept and pained, but not incapacitated. "You are a fool to challenge me, little sorcerer. I have learned more than you can hope to dream of. Also, do not forget my primary attribute. I am forever aided in my powers by the Farwolaeth."

"Shame," said Merlin, "seeing as it's dead."

He watched in mild satisfaction as Arawn's facade crumbled.

"You lie," he spat breathlessly, but there was no doubt he believed it. His face mirrored that of Arthur's when he faced his father after learning how his mother died. In short, he resembled a man whose world had just irreparably shattered.

Arthur spoke for the first time since the fight began. "It's true," he confirmed. "Its body lies in the forest, exactly where we left it. Perhaps it died under the impression its master abandoned it."

Any lingering composure in Arawn's demeanor vanished. "No," he denied in agony. Merlin raised his hand, ready to use this moment of distraction to his advantage, but then he saw something that shocked him too much to carry out the action.

Arawn was crying.

A cluster of tears gathered in the corners of both eyes. None fell, but their existence was enough to hold Merlin's imminent spell at bay.

The whole world had chosen that moment to revolve around the two of them. The usual noise from the city didn't seem to meet the windows. The fire in the hearth, low as it was, held its breath and ceased to crackle. Even Arthur made not a sound. Suffocating in the silence, Merlin said, "I'm sorry."

"Save your words!" croaked Arawn. Merlin guessed the demand was supposed to sound harsher than that. "It is not your _right _to apologize! You, who likely stood by and jeered as the world's most precious creature lost its life. Words of its fate ought never to cross your lips!"

While Merlin thought this a blatant romanticism of a creature whose name meant "death," he agreed, "I suppose it's not within my rights to apologize. But only because I didn't kill it." Arawn's accusing eyes swiveled to glare at the prince, who had given up his struggle and simply sat in tense posture and watched. "Nor did Arthur," continued Merlin swiftly. "We didn't do _anything_, I swear. It killed... itself."

"Merlin, quit trying to reason with the madman," snapped Arthur, apparently not as content to watch as Merlin had thought. "As for you, _sorcerer_." Merlin flinched and prayed that Arthur never addressed _him _like that. "Whatever happened to that thing was deserved. It killed four people and tried to make it a fifth. If you ask me, it didn't die soon en-"

He was cut off with a gasp for air, at the same time that Merlin tried to warn him. _"Arthur_," he hissed, knowing this wasn't going to end well if he kept talking, and then yelled the prince's name again when he saw his eyes bulge. "Let him go!" he snarled, and whirled to face Arawn, whose tears now made angry paths to his chin.

"For what?" he demanded. The fierce scars on his arms stood out as he clenched his fists in a grip tight enough to crush steel. His eyes burned until the brown irises wavered dark amber. "So that yet another man who refuses to tolerate those better than him can one day stand in his father's place? So that _he _will become the man who stands on a balcony and commands the axe to drop? He ought never to reach the throne. Surely you must see this. You should be _thanking _me!"

Merlin was hardly listening to a word Arawn said, for as the man's speech wore on, Arthur's wheezing worsened. Merlin slid to his knees on the carpet beside him, trusting Arawn's current state to give him enough time to help Arthur.

The prince's face took on an unhealthy shade of purple as Merlin's frantically mind raced to remember a spell that dealt with breathing. What was the word for breath...? Of course! He whispered words that he hoped were the right ones. He let his own breath out in a relieved whoosh when the pathetic wheezing turned into pants as the prince inhaled the air he'd been denied.

As if of their own accord - or more accurately, as if something had slashed them - the ropes binding Arthur's body fell away. Merlin knew it was his magic that had done it, though it must have been subconscious. Arthur, still shaken from the near-suffocation, struggled to free himself of the loosened coil. He ignored Merlin's hesitant attempts to help, and the warlock finally got the hint when Arthur pushed his hands away, all with his face turned away.

"You see?" crowed Arawn, having watched the whole thing and taken no action to stop it. "Your prince rejects you even now. Have you any second thoughts, little sorcerer?"

For the first time, Merlin tried to catch Arthur's eye. He succeeded for a few moments, and the power those few moments held was unspeakable. He saw the grim shadow in Arthur's eyes. He noticed the way his jaw set. Most importantly was the fact that Arthur was unbound now, yet he hadn't moved to collect his sword. The sorcerer who had tried to kill them both was in the room with them now, unstable and possibly vulnerable, and Arthur had yet to make a move in his direction.

To Merlin, that spoke volumes.

He tried to communicate his own telepathic message - without _actually _entering Arthur's head, because that was sure to cause more harm than good. He tried to use his body language and expressions to say, _I'm on your side. I always will be. I'm not the enemy. I'm still the same person I was twenty minutes ago when you had no idea what I'm capable of doing._

It was impossible to tell whether Arthur understood any of that. From the unchanging, hard look on his face, Merlin's guess was - probably not.

"No second thoughts, Arawn," he said, deciding it was time to get this over with so he and Arthur could do whatever it was they needed to do to make things right again. If they _could _get things right again. "And unfortunately for you, no second chances."

He threw out an arm and spouted every word in the Old Tongue that he knew. Arawn reciprocated. Pity; Merlin had been wrong about the possible vulnerability. Arawn was just as capable of defending himself as before.

Merlin conjured a miniature tornado like the one in Ealdor, sending miscellaneous objects soaring around the room. Unfortunately, an old unpolished gauntlet nearly decapitated him, making him lose concentration. The enchantment slipped from his grasp before he had a chance to use it properly.

Arawn sneered. "Is that the best you can do? Perhaps the little sorcerer is getting tired." He hissed something under his breath.

A snake made entirely of flames blossomed to life at Merlin's feet. It hissed with a voice similar to the one that made it and lunged to bite Merlin ankle. He kicked it with a yell, drenching it with a conjured stream of water. The flaming body writhed, fizzled, and exploded. Strange; the warlock hadn't known it was going to do that.

He didn't have time to ponder the abnormality of it, for soon an army of fire creatures had materialized. His eyes quickly began to water from the smoke.

"Can't fight on your own?" The words came out more like a cough, and he brought up a hand to stifle it. "Need a bunch of minions to do your dirty work?"

"Hardly," drawled that maddening voice, even more frightening because it was now disembodied. Merlin could see nothing but grey and orange combined. "This is simply more entertaining than the alternative. _Gesleccan._"

Merlin heard the weakening spell, but was too dazed to do anything about it. He felt it like a punch to his chest, causing him to stumble backward and sag against the nearest solid object. Judging by exactly how solid it was, he guessed he was leaning against the wall. He tried to remember what Gaius had taught him about weakening spells. _Best to wait them out, _his mentor had advised. Well, he didn't exactly have time for that, now, did he?

The fight hadn't quite left him yet. _"Wæter, hiersumie me." _He felt his palm grow wet, not with sweat from the heat, but with the force waiting for his command. _"Onsigan swá beátan." _The water burst forth and became its own creature - a merlin falcon, in fact. It spread its dripping wings with a screech and buried its talons into a fiery warrior, striking another soon after with its beak.

Merlin's satisfaction dimmed as his creation was torn apart by a force of three fire-creature bearing an uncanny resemblance to a Farwolaeth.

Utterly exhausted, he slumped again and let his head fall back against the wall. He'd wasted too much precious energy on that single trick. He needed to learn to preserve energy in situations like these, because unfortunately for him, he found himself in similar predicaments often.

A face appeared in the haze that was now his vision. "Does the little sorcerer grow weary?" the man taunted. The flaming creatures vanished simultaneously as Arawn drew closer. Merlin suspected he, too, had spent a great deal of energy and could no longer maintain the conjured army.

"Only weary from theatrics," Merlin retorted. It was a struggle simply to speak. Damn, why a _weakening_ spell?

Arawn's face twisted. "I hope you know you cannot win," he said conversationally. "I must wonder why you even bother. But you are correct - the theatrics grow tiresome. It would be more convenient to kill you and be done with it. So I shall."

He opened his mouth, no doubt to let out a spell that Merlin was powerless to block, but at the last moment became distracted by something. That "something" became apparent very quickly.

Arawn whirled around, screaming profanities, and Merlin saw the gash that ripped his shoulder wide open. A heartbeat later, he saw Arthur, finally on his feet and with a sword in his hand, glaring at Arawn with more hatred than Merlin had ever seen in one person before, much less Arthur.

"Leave him alone!" the prince snarled, daring Arawn to come closer with a flick of his sword. Merlin's heart leapt inexplicably, then thudded back where it belonged from sheer overexertion.

"Have we not been through this?" Arawn said agitatedly. _"__Ácwellan!"_

Merlin saw red. Or, rather, he saw gold.

_"Gescildan,_" he shouted, and it was a miracle he remembered to bother with a shield spell, because from the moment Arawn decided to dispatch Arthur like he was nothing, his mind was overcome with one subliminal thought. _Kill. "Forscéadan unc to gástcwalu!"_

He caught the surprised look on Arawn's face. Then he saw nothing but gold as his eyes flashed and burned so intensely it _hurt_, he _felt _it, he was going to burn from the inside out and it was all his magic's fault-

And then it was over. He found himself kneeling on the floor, a little sore from having fallen, but he couldn't remember the point when he actually fell. He looked for Arawn, determined to finish him off if by some chance he was still there, but there was only Arthur.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Surprisingly, Arthur broke the silence. "What was that last spell?"

Merlin forced his tired mind to comprehend that yes, _Arthur _was inquiring about his _magic_. "I said... 'damn you to hell.' I guess it might have done that... literally." This was too bizarre. And never mind that, he still suffered from the weakness that had settled into his bones from Arawn's spell. He struggled to his feet and took in his surroundings.

The prince's chambers were a mess. Guiltily, he realized that was partially his fault, considering the wind spell. Armor was strewn about, the fire in the hearth had been blown out, the bed was crooked - bloody hell, how had no one _heard _them? He started to check for a silencing spell on the room, but even the thought of doing more magic made him want to collapse. Again.

Some things were singed, too. The sheets on the bed had black rings encompassing holes where material ought to have been. He sighed, thinking of all the work that would have to be done.

Arthur gave him a meaningful look. "We'll talk about this later," he said, and Merlin doubted he meant the state of his room. "Come on. I'm taking you to Gaius. And don't you _dare_ try to argue."

Merlin didn't. For once, he was content to let Arthur lead him to the physician's chambers, although if he was honest, it would be more accurate to say that Arthur carried him there. Perhaps Merlin's feet never left the ground, but he didn't kid himself into thinking he would have been able to move had the prince not supported the vast majority of his weight.

Merlin didn't mind. At least it wasn't the executioner's block Arthur was dragging him to, and he doubted Arthur would be taking him to the physician if he meant to hang him in the morning.

With that cheerful thought, Merlin allowed himself to drift off with a smile on his face.


	16. Epilogue

Y'all thought I'd forgotten, didn't you? I just needed to get the idea straight. But, with the entire thing written today, here it is.

* * *

E p i l o g u e

With spring's insistent rain falling from the heavens, it was by no means a good day for hunting. In fact, it was downright miserable, and Merlin said so.

"You think every day is a bad day for hunting," Arthur pointed out. "You _hate _hunting."

"Not as much now that you only have time once a year to drag me out here," argued Merlin. That was the other man's greatest lament; the hunts, patrols, and investigations were no longer his responsibility. Taxes, treaties, and matters of state were.

King Arthur took a swig from his water skin and held it out. It was filled to the brim in seconds. "If we get pneumonia," he said conversationally, "it falls to you to take the blame."

"Why?" Merlin exclaimed, failing to see how it could possibly be his fault.

"Because you're my adviser, and you didn't advise me not to go hunting when it's pouring and less warm than spring has a right to be."

Though he'd sooner die than admit it, Merlin secretly enjoyed these little ventures. While he was perhaps exaggerating the rarity of Arthur's hunting trips, the outings they took _alone _were few and far between.

"It's been a long time since it was just the two of us in the forest," he commented, not caring if Arthur called him a girl. "Do you remember the last time we traveled this far out on our own?"

"Parts of it," said Arthur dryly. "All I remember is something about a beast and an incompetent servant who turned out to have magic. The rest is a bit of a blur."

Merlin took a moment to make sure his next few steps sprayed Arthur's breeches with mud. "I don't think the servant was _entirely _useless," he said. "I'm sure he did the best he could with an irritating prince throwing things at him and insisting he clean spotless armor day after day."

"He wasn't _completely _useless in the end," Arthur admitted.

"Not completely? I'm pretty sure he saved your ungrateful arse more times than either one of you can-"

"Quiet!"

Merlin stilled, recognizing the look on the king's face and knowing that when Arthur told him to be quiet in such manner, it usually meant there was something bad to follow.

A rustling in the bushes caught his attention. He mentally ran through the lexicon of spells stored up in his brain, everything from healing spells to the quickest way to dispatch an animal of general magical origins. It wouldn't work on everything, but unless it was something _really _bad-

His thoughts cut off abruptly when a deer erected its head, making itself visible to the hunting party of two. Seconds later, it grunted in pain, an arrow in its neck. When it tried to run, Merlin held up a hand and said the words to quicken its passage. It collapsed on the spot.

"It's the humane approach," Merlin said firmly, while Arthur shook his head in resignation. They had had this discussion many times over. Arthur thought using his magic to bring down the animal was cheating, whereas Merlin maintained that it was going to die anyway and it was kinder not to let it suffer.

They sloshed through the liquefied ground, Merlin levitating the deer carcass invisibly behind them. It kept running into trees, causing Arthur to glare at him and whisper something about spells to muffle sound. Merlin pretended to be deaf and kept his face carefully blank.

"This is ridiculous," the warlock complained when the force and thickness of the rain became, if possible, greater. "I can barely see your head, big as it is, through all this!"

"That's just your age talking, Merlin," Arthur retorted. He was mere steps ahead of Merlin, yet his voice was almost lost to the downpour. "Next thing you know, you'll be completely blind and forget how to talk. Now, wouldn't that be a shame?"

Merlin's feet lost all traction with the mud, and he wound up sprawling face first on the ground. Arthur landed on top of him a heartbeat later, having had his legs taken out by the servant's fall. All the breath was knocked from Merlin's lungs.

"Need... to try... diet... again," he wheezed, pushing Arthur off of him and getting to his feet. "Really, this is idiotic. _You _do whatever you like, I'm going back to Camelot." He turned and ran straight into something solid.

It took him a few moments to squint through the curtain of water and process what he was seeing. No... surely not.

"What now?" asked Arthur impatiently, but then he, too, saw what Merlin was staring at. He gaped disbelievingly, which invited all the droplets on his face to roll into his open mouth. "What..."

"It's not some kind of miracle," Merlin assured him. "Although, magic _is _kind of like a miracle, and I definitely used magic to put that there."

"You did this?" Arthur sounded incredulous, which was unfair, considering he had literally seen Merlin move mountains. Sections of them, at least.

"Yes," said Merlin absently, "a long, long time ago..."

Now that he had returned to this spot, he remembered it clearly. He filled Arthur in briefly on the circumstances, and expected that a light of recognition kindled in the king's mind. Arthur, too, remembered that time in their lives. That small window of time when he simultaneously knew and avoided a certain truth about his manservant.

"So after all that, you decided the best place to put the sword was _in a stone_?" the king demanded quizzically. "If it's meant for me, why not just hand it over? I already knew about you and your tricks, and you _still _didn't think you should maybe mention at some point that there was a magical sword waiting for me in a forest somewhere?"

"I was preoccupied," replied Merlin sheepishly. "Besides, there was no need. You haven't had to kill any dead creatures since that day."

Arthur rolled his eyes and stretched out a hand, fingering the hilt experimentally. "You say no one can pull it out?" he asked, examining the nonsense runes on the blade. One of them disappeared halfway into the rock.

"No one," confirmed Merlin. "I sealed it in there myse-"

In one swift move, Arthur tightened his grip and drew the sword from its unresisting sheathe. He surveyed it in the best light possible for a second, then said, "Really, Merlin, that was _pathetic._"

Merlin open and closed his mouth. "I - it - everyone except you," he said, wishing he had known that before now so he wouldn't feel so stupid.

"Right."

"Seriously! If you put it back, no one would ever get it out again. Except, well, you."

Arthur tossed him the sword - a dangerous move, had Merlin not expected something along those lines - and snorted. "Whatever you say." He walked away from the now swordless stone, leaving Merlin to splutter things like, "It's _true_," and, "You're a prat."

By the time they reached the tree line, the rain had slowed to a sprinkle, restoring both men's vision. Merlin held up the blade, which he had refused to give back, and read aloud the inscription.

"'Take me up,'" he said, and frowned as he turned it over and added, "'Cast me away.'"

"Cast me away?" Arthur repeated. "That sounds like a waste, if you ask me. Why cast away a sword with so much power?"

"It's _because _it has so much power. When you've finished with it, no one else can touch it. Someone will have to put it back where no one can find it."

"Back in the stone?"

"Back in the lake, I think. Back to Avalon."

Arthur nodded, but Merlin doubted he understood completely. When he used Excalibur for himself, he would learn why it was dangerous to have such a weapon exist for anyone's use.

Later that day, Merlin would realize that this was the last piece of his destiny to click into place. He had fulfilled everything the Dragon told him he had to. Arthur was king, magic was restored, and the sword of destiny was finally in the hands it was made for.

For the moment, he was content to keep Excalibur tantalizingly out of Arthur's grasp, choosing to untie his horse and set off at a gallop to the castle on the horizon. The Once and Future King and his loyal Court Sorcerer raced back to the place someone years ago had decided to name Camelot, but for which they had another word.

Home.

* * *

Just to clarify, the sword didn't get there quite in the same fashion it did in Series 3, because, well, I kind of murdered the canon Series 3 by having Arthur find out the truth, Morgana have a slightly different role, etc.

You may have noticed some references to things that never happened in the story or the series, and this was intentional. Why? Because I have... potential... plans for a sequel. There's no guarantee, because I have about a gazillion story ideas floating around, and I don't know which one to go through with. The sequel would be called Side by Side, and would take places about two/three months after the previous chapter. For now, I'm happy knowing this is done.

Thank you ALL for the support!


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